Never Did Run Smooth
by batfacedgirl
Summary: Kirk is forced into an unwanted bonding when Spock goes into pon farr. Now he is on the run with Scotty and Chekov, trying to deal with his bond. K/S, references to non-con, language.
1. Chapter 17

This story is a continuation that I authored based on the discontinued "Brave Face Sewn On" by Fights. For her own reasons, Fights chose to discontinue her story and eventually take it down completely. It dealt with traumatic issues and many people found it difficult to read. I was challenged by the story. Yes, the subject matter was harsh and the story contained a rape scene but in no way was this intended to titillate or entertain. It was a means to explore many important themes and ideas about betrayal, survival and forgiveness. I found myself wrestling with the ideas and decided to write a continuation to help me work through my thoughts. Fights gave me permission to do this and has acted as an unofficial beta for this story.

I am happy to report that Fights is planning to continue her story. She is re-editing and reposting it at livejournal. If anyone is interested in reading the original story, send me a private message and I can send you the contact info.

I recommend reading it but I'm going to provide a brief summary of "BFSO" below to catch readers up to where this story begins.

-In the reboot universe, the Enterprise is well into its five year mission.

-Spock and Uhura have maintained their relationship and have been trying to officially bond and conceive a child. They haven't been able to do it, Uhura has had several miscarriages and Spock's pon farr is approaching.

-Spock needs to find another person who he can bond with to survive. He identifies Jim as compatible.

-Spock and Uhura convince McCoy, who in turn convinces Starfleet to approve a bonding between Spock and Jim. They deliberately don't tell Jim till the last minute because they don't want him to fight the situation.

-Spock approaches Jim when he is already losing himself to pon farr. He shows Jim the possibiltiy of a future with him and Uhura that involves Jim giving them children. Jim panics and runs to McCoy, who has sworn to help S and U and they have Jim declared compromised. Spock takes over the ship and Jim goes on the run aboard the Enterprise as a fugitive.

-Martial law is declared on the ship and the entire ship basically goes into lockdown as Spock pursues Jim over the course of about five days. When Spock finally catches Jim, he is completely out of his mind and forces a bonding while raping his friend.

-Jim is badly injured and is taken off the ship to recover in a hospital. While he is gone, Spock and McCoy attempt to figure out what caused them to do what they did, especially McCoy who really can't understand his own actions. Jim undergoes physical and mental therapy in the hospital but eventually is forced to return to the Enterprise, not as the captain but as Acting-Captain Spock's spouse. He arrives wanting to stage a rebellion.

-Spock and Uhura attempt to get Jim to fall in line with their relationship, through many means ranging from gentle persuasion to attempted brain-washing. McCoy is consumed by guilt and Scotty and Chekov join sides with Jim to cause problems aboard the ship. Spock retaliates by repeatedly throwing them in the brig.

Okay, the summary hardly does "BFSO" justice and I'm sure by the end of that you'r thinking "huh", "what" and "why". I had all those thoughts which was why I was so bothered when Fights choose to discontinue. "NDRS" attempts to explore the motives behind these actions and to look at why good people sometimes do bad things. It also deals with the possibilities of forgiveness. However, it does include potentially painful and difficult issues so please be forewarned.

-BFG


	2. Chapter 1

Story is an original continuation and ending for "Brave Face Sewn On" by Fights, published with permission. BFSO should be read first to provide context. Story picks up after BFSO ch 6a.

This story contains references to rape and rape survival. It is rated for strong language and adult situations.

_I don't own Star Trek_

* * *

3 months later.....

Pavel Chekov leaned against the bulkhead in the brig, counting to himself, "477, 478". With each count, he recaptured the old, terran style tennis ball he kept on his person for just these occasions. In the last three months, he had spent a grand total of nineteen days in lock-up and seven more confined to his quarters. Seeing as how these incarcerations seemed to result from more and more asinine "offenses", he had taken to carrying some form of personal entertainment at all times. Scotty was also logging an impressive number of hours in the brig and he was equally pragmatic. When they had been tossed in here by Spock's goon squad two hours ago, Scotty had casually removed a flask from his boot and downed the contents in under ten minutes. He was now contentedly sleeping it off in the cell's back corner, oblivious to the world, Chekov's poor aim, and his good friend Jim's current fate.

"Ironic," Chekov pondered. Two months ago, when the three of them (four, if you counted Scotty's little alien buddy and at this point Chekov certainly did) had really been raising hell, even attempting to incite a possible mutiny, Spock had handled it, well, logically. Sure, that Vulcan mind mashing that he kept inflicting on poor Jim, the one that turned the former captain into a twelve year-old girl with a bad crush, had been painful to watch and time in lock up passed with excruciating languor but no one was physically hurt. That had changed rather dramatically with Jim's acquiescence. He had stopped trying to physically resist the situation in which he found himself once Spock had made it clear he was through playing games. If he wanted Jim in his bed, Jim ended up there by means of a mind fuck or a body slam, depending on the night. Eventually, Jim embraced the concept of lying down willingly. And as he lay awake between the two people he loathed most in the world, Jim planned other avenues of rebellion.

Without a current rank or position on the ship, Jim found himself with a lot of free time. Now, instead of wallowing in self-pity or causing all manner of ruckus, Jim Kirk, former unofficial man-slut of Starfleet, began to read books. This surprised Chekov at first. It wasn't that he considered Jim to be a brainless meat-head. He had always known the man was incredibly intelligent and a brilliant tactician. He just couldn't picture his former captain curled up with a good book. It was Scotty who interpreted Jim's actions for him. Jim, Scotty reasoned, had come to terms with the fact that he couldn't best Spock physically. The only playing field on which he had a chance was the mind and even there Jim was at a disadvantage. Jim's reading, as far as Scotty could tell, was the mental equivalent of "beefing up". "For what", Chekov had asked. Scotty had merely replied that he didn't know but hoped to God to be there when Jim figured it out.

"541, 542"

Wherever Jim was going with his new path to mental superiority, Spock obviously didn't want him to get there. The captain had been rather restrained during their initial, albeit brief, reign of terror through the ship. But Jim's sudden and voracious appetite for knowledge had caused Spock to flake out like a proverbially fruit cake. Chekov had been sitting in the Observation Lounge with Jim, playing seven deck solitaire on the computer while his friend devoured Plato's _Republic_ when an enraged Vulcan came marching into the room, Uhura close behind him. As the young woman stopped in the doorway, Chekov noticed the look of panic on her face. Ignoring the young Ensign, Spock strode to Jim's couch and hauled him roughly to his feet; twisting his arm up behind his back and pushing him face first into the bulkhead. The two men stood frozen for a minute and Chekov got the absurd notion that they were speaking to each other somehow. Well, speaking may have been too polite a phrase because Spock suddenly reared back and yanked the human's arm up even higher. Chekov jumped forward but was too late as a tell-tale pop alerted them all to Jim's freshly dislocated shoulder. Spock spun the injured human around and roughly cupped his chin. The two starred at each other for a long moment until the fire in Spock's eyes died down. He turned and walked away, the picture of cool, calm reserve.

Chekov stood rooted to the floor, unable to comprehend what had just happened. His friend leaned his good shoulder against the bulkhead and took several deep gasps of air. Suddenly, a blur of red rushed into the scene. Uhura gently grasped Jim's good arm and gave it a gentle tug. "Come on, we have to get you to sickbay". Chekov couldn't help noticing the shared look of misery that passed between the two former friends before they quickly looked away. Retrieving Jim's PADD from the floor, he followed the two to sickbay.

And here he was again, 2,712, 2713. In the brig for daring to be in the same room as Spock's pretty toy, the toy who used to be their captain, the toy who is still Chekov's friend. He can't help but notice that some of the security factions on the ship seem to be using the Captain's preoccupation with Jim for their own nefarious purposes. There was certainly no reason for Delsalle and his thugs to come storming into the engine room today. He and Scotty had been playing cards and Jim, well, Jim had been reading. All of the sudden, they were being roughly man-handled out the door. Chekov had almost lost his precious tennis ball in the scuffle. As he was dragged out, he cast a last look over his shoulder and noticed that Spock had pushed Jim into the wall in the back of the room and was standing in front of him as a shield, protecting him from the four-on-one smackdown that Scotty had been laying on the security crew.

Chekov just shakes his head and gives up on that riddle for the time being. He wonders if Spock knows he is being manipulated by Security for their own petty vengeances. He wonders if Scotty is right and if Spock is actually the true puppeteer. He wonders if Jim is still conscious or…….

"3,191, 3192"

* * *

Nyota Uhura leaned against the bunk in the unfamiliar darkness of her cabin. Four nights and it still felt like a hotel room. But that shouldn't be too surprising. She hadn't slept in here for over four years.

She was wide awake and knew sleep was a long way off but she kept the lights off anyway. The space was small and it would be almost impossible to avoid the full length mirror in a lighted cabin. Nyota could not face the mirror tonight. There were just too many ugly faces she saw looking back at her. For example…..

Self-Centered, Soul-Sucking Shrew….. there was a face. Nyota had always considered herself to be a good friend. Well, that was until she learned that she was _incompatible_ with the man she loved. _True love conquers all. Isn't that how all the fairy-tales go._ Well, in Nyota's magic kingdom it wasn't enough to conquer Vulcan biology. In the end, it hadn't mattered how much she loved him. He needed the bond to survive the _pon farr_. So when he identified their captain as a viable mate and came to her with the insane idea of creating a little threesome relationship, she had actually agreed. She had been so unwilling to give him up and so desperate to share a child with him. The two of them had fallen into planning and plotting, deliberately avoiding the fact that Jim might not be willing to give up his whole life to give them everything they wanted. They had waited until it was too late, until Spock had lost some essential part of himself and Jim had panicked and run and Spock had given chase and……..

She had tried to hold it together for as long as she could, trying to control Spock's irrational behavior while simultaneously bullying an emotionally devastated Jim into fitting into her pre-conceived mold. Quickly, though, she has noticed the dynamic starting to slip. And before she really knew what had happened, she found herself with a brand new face…

Scorned Lover……NOT the most becoming of looks. It had begun, oddly enough, with her defense of Jim and subsequent acknowledgement of Jim's personal rights. Spock had begun employing some kind of mind control on their former captain, which completely stripped him of his dignity. At first, it simply offended her to see the man who had led her ship for four years brought so low. But as the days and weeks passed, Spock began to get increasingly possessive of his new mate. He had forced Jim into their bed every night until Jim just gave up and stayed there for good. Originally, he had made a point of seeking her out and making love to her, of reaching over and touching her despite the third party in the middle of their bed. Eventually, though, his attentions had waned and then refocused completely. Jim was who he wanted to touch. Nyota was familiar enough with how Spock displayed love to recognize the emotional attachment he was developing towards his bond mate, an attachment that left no room for her. Despite that, Spock still did not hesitate to subjugate Jim mentally or physically for real or imagined offenses. And that frightened her more than anything else, to see the man with whom she had wanted to share her life become capable of afflicting harm on a person he loved.

She recognized immediately that she had become the intruder in their bed. Well, Spock's bed, Jim was there under duress. And because of that she couldn't leave. She acknowledged her responsibility for Jim's current state. If only she and Spock had faced their own inabilities or at the very least gone to Jim before the last possible minute. But they had gone over their intended victim's head to the Federation, who approved _they didn't even know what_ for the "Sake of Vulcan", and guilted McCoy into ostensibly stripping Jim of his captaincy be declaring him unfit to serve. As she lay, quietly crying out her own guilt, she caught sight of Jim, awake and lying only eight inches away. He was trapped in place by a large hand that rested like a manacle on his hip. Sighing inwardly, she realized there might come a day when Spock actually put a real ball and chain around Jim's ankle to keep him where he wanted him. Worse, she suspected Jim knew this, too and their shared misery reflected in each other's eyes.

So for a long time she could not leave, could not abandon Jim in a hell of her own creation. Four days ago, though, she hit her breaking point. And put on her most recent face.

Coward…….. telling herself that the reason she vacated their bed was to make it easier for Jim to sleep in his cast. Spock dislocated his arm and nearly cracked his clavicle because……well, who really knew why anymore. But she could see the look in Spock's eyes, night after night, the tension growing, telling her to be gone already. And as bad as she felt for Jim, she just didn't want to be the next one hit. So she slunk away to her own cabin, to lick her wounds and think about babies that would never have really been hers anyway and to sit in the darkness because she could no longer stand to look at herself.

* * *

Leonard McCoy could quote poetry with ease when he was drunk. And right now, halfway through a bottle of Tennessee whiskey, a line from William Butler Yates was running on a loop through his mind….Things Fall Apart….Things…….Fall………………..A…..part………..No shit.

Uhura had moved back to her cabin. The reason for his cooperation, for the betrayal of his best friend had fled the ugly scene. No babies for her now. When the plan had first begun to unravel, Leonard had wondered if Jim could've supplied some good old human DNA for…..but God Almighty, where was his mind going. First, if all the woman had wanted was a sperm donor, he could've have done the honors, so to speak, himself. No, Nyota wanted to share a child with Spock and that, unfortunately, was not a possibility in the natural world. Secondly, and more importantly, McCoy was now convinced that if Jim and Nyota had ever attempted any kind union, the quick result would've been an impromptu Koon-ut, no Koon-kut,…. oh fuck it, Vulcan mate challenge thingy, and Nyota would be dead at Spock's hands.

Considering how fast and far the situation had sunk, McCoy acknowledged that he should probably be grateful that Uhura had removed herself. Since her departure, Spock had become noticeably calmer. Recognizing this, McCoy had asked Scotty and Chekov to keep their distance from Jim for awhile in order to test his theory. Sure enough, Spock hadn't stalked or publicly subdued Jim in two days. _Just like an animal…..take away the perceived rivals and Spock no longer feels the need to continually mark Jim as his property. _This allowed Jim to heal but also left him cut off from his support network, such as it was. McCoy had attempted to talk to his former best friend when Uhura had brought him in to be treated for the shoulder but Jim had been unresponsive and the doctor had been forced to admit that as far as Jim was concerned, Leonard McCoy was still the enemy. And there was really no time to repair the relationship. The Enterprise's mission was drawing to an end. They would be docking at Earth for re-fits in less than one month. What would become of his friend then? Jim was Spock's mate under Vulcan law, backed by the Federation, and McCoy knew that strict interpretation of that law made Vulcan "wives" the property of their husbands. If Spock invoked this, McCoy feared that no authority would prevent it and Jim would simply disappear behind the shroud of Vulcan's secrecy and traditions. And for the life of him, McCoy could think of no way to prevent it.

Taking another swig of his bottle, he returned to Yates…._What rough beast, its hour at last at hand, slouches towards Bethlehem to be born"._

Rough beast indeed.

* * *

In the Captain's cabin, another crew member also contemplated a line of poetry. _The best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry. _Spock, son of Sarek, acting captain of the USS Enterprise knew nothing of mice and apparently little more of humans but he thought that terran poet Robert Burns had captured the experience of one half-Vulcan Starfleet officer rather succinctly. Several months ago, his plan had seemed flawless. He had hoped that his approaching _pon farr_ would allow him to start a family with the woman of his choosing. Now, he had ruthlessly and intentionally driven that woman away. He had called Jim Kirk a friend and gladly followed him as captain. Now, he was bonded to Jim, who openly loathed and feared him. Even more, he had usurped Jim's captaincy and made him a non-entity on his own ship.

Spock carefully looked around the room. It was vital that he only pack necessities. Most of his belongings would have to be replaced because he had little doubt what Mr. Scott, Mr. Chekov and the good doctor would do to his things after they discovered his current plan of action. Finishing his own packing, he took a moment to scan Jim's possessions. They were in no danger of being destroyed but he doubted his mate would find the means to reclaim any of them. In fact, if Spock's new plan succeeded, it was a foregone conclusion that Jim would never see any of these items again. With that in mind, he reached over and picked up the PADD that contained Jim's family album and threw it into the case. He also grabbed the gold chain Jim frequently wore that held his parents' wedding rings. Satisfied, he closed the lid of his small carry case and quickly moved to stash it in the storage closet of Transport Room #5 before returning to the bridge.

As he walked in, Uhura turned to look at him, conspicuously avoiding his eyes. "Captain, we are being hailed by an incoming Vulcan vessel", she said.

"Acknowledged. Give me a private link", he ordered. He ignored the suspicious look she shot him as she handed him an ear piece. Listening carefully to the speaker at the other end, he memorized several coordinates and broke off communications. Handing the instrument back to Uhura, he ordered her to attempt to raise Starfleet command and gave Mr. Scott the comm. Satisfied that at least two of his biggest possible obstacles were sufficiently distracted¸ Spock stepped into the Turbolift. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on his bond mate. Following his instincts, Spock soon found Jim sitting in the rec room with his PADD. Immediately sensing Spock's presence, Jim made to stand and face him but Spock crossed the room with inhuman speed and grasped Jim's injured shoulder. Pushing him back down into the chair, Spock quickly delivered an incapacitating nerve pinch to Jim's neck. Ducking down, Spock swung the unconscious human onto his shoulder and strode towards Transport Room #5.

Reaching his destination in under three minutes, Spock gently laid Jim's unconscious form on the floor before turning to the confused ensign who currently manned the transporter. Pulling a previously prepared note from his pocket, Spock said, "Take this note to Dr. McCoy". As the ensign left the room, Spock opened the comm link. "Lt. Uhura, please give me an open channel to address the ship." As he waited, Spock took a moment to pull his carry case out of the closet and placed it on the transporter pad.

"You have a channel, Captain." Uhura voiced through the comm link.

Returning to the command console, Spock compressed the comm. "Attention all crew. This is Acting Captain Spock. I am officially relinquishing my command of the vessel USS Enterprise to First Officer Montgomery Scott, effective immediately. Spock out." Cutting the connection, he plugged in the pre-arranged coordinates and a one minute countdown into the transporter console. Moving quickly, he carefully lifted Jim back onto his shoulder and took his place on the transporter pad. As the countdown commenced, he watched the USS Enterprise disintegrate around him.

By the time Scotty and McCoy burst into Transporter Room #5, the Vulcan ship was already speeding away into space.


	3. Chapter 2

Ch. 2 One Year Later: Vulcan II

Pavel Chekov, former navigator of the USS Enterprise and current first mate of the cargo ship Aberdeen, jogged lightly across the tarmac towards his waiting vessel. "Okay, Keptin, ve are clear to unload," he shouted up to one Montgomery Scott, currently performing makeshift repairs on the ship's rooftop shield mechanism. "Foin then, see t'it, young fool" Scotty returned. Chekov smiled at the gentle insult and began shouting directives at the crew.

Scotty turned back to the task at hand, lovingly mending the ship he had named after the Scottish city that contained his favorite pub. She was not Enterprise, he couldn't deny that, but she was his and if one had to settle for second best, then one should make the most of it. Besides, as lovely as she might be, the Enterprise would never be his home again. Beauty is only skin deep, as the saying goes, and although the ship itself was still in stunning order when Scotty last saw her, the pain and horror he had witnessed within those halls had sullied that fine lady for him forever. Those memories had forced him to resign his Starfleet commission, taking Chekov and his friend Keenser with him. Now they piloted a cargo ship. Some might call it a step, hell several steps, down the social ladder but what his new ship lacked in grandiosity, it made up for in a clear conscience. He had been unable to save his friend. He would not compound that failure by staying aboard his friend's ship. He didn't dwell often on his personal reasons for choosing trade routes to Vulcan II. The planet was new and needed supplies. The money was good and the route well protected. As for other possible motives, Scotty hadn't gotten those plans passed formation stage yet.

"KEPTIN!!!"

Chekov's voice shook him from his thoughts. He looked down to see his first officer gesturing across the tarmac, a chagrined expression on his face. Following the gesture, Scotty's eyes alighted on the last Vulcan he hoped to see on this damned plant. _Speaking of the devil himself_. Clambering down from the roof, Scotty jumped down the last four feet and landed at Pavel's side, exchanging a confused and angry look with his first mate. Glancing again at the approaching Vulcan, the two men walked out to meet their guest.

Spock was outfitted in typical Vulcan fashion, dark loose robe, polished boots, hair impeccably in place. He stood in stark contrast to the decidedly blue collar exterior that Scotty and Chekov had adopted. Coming to a standstill before them, hands clasped behind his back, face relaxed and emotionless, he appeared completely unperturbed by the fact that the last communication between the three of them involved him suddenly relinquishing his captaincy and abandoning ship with their unconscious friend's body flung over his shoulder.

"Gentleman, Peace and Long Life to You. I trust you are in good health?"

Scotty almost choked on his own rage. He could feel the flush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. Beside him Chekov's hand clenched into fists. He was mocking them, this arrogant BASTARD. _You rape my captain, usurp his power, STEAL him away from us, and act like its nothing. And now, I still can't do a damn thing. Wouldn't do to attack the son of Sarek, the savior of the Vulcan elders while on Vulcan II, now would it. We'd never make it out of port!_

Spock continued, apparently unbothered by his former shipmates' furious expressions, "Gentlemen, I do not wish to keep you. I just have two quick inquiries. Mr. Scott, is that your ship?"

Glancing at the Aberdeen, Scotty weighed his answer. Finally realizing that he didn't know the right thing to say, he went with the truth. "Ay, Mr. Spock, it is."

"I see. Do you make trade runs to Vulcan often?

"Ay, twice a month, standard time", Scotty searched Spock's face for any hint of where he was going with this line of questioning but the Vulcan façade remained calm and collected. He appeared to be considering the information and then looked up, his face cracking into an expression that resembled mild satisfaction, "Thank you, gentlemen. I will cease to take up your time. Good day." With a soft swish of his robe, the Vulcan turned and walked away.

Scotty watched, feeling relieved and slightly punch drunk. He really should leave well enough alone but….

"SPOCK"

The retreating figure froze midstep.

"Where is he, Spock?"

At first, Scotty thought he would be ignored. Instead, Spock inclined his head over his shoulder and locked eyes with both men. "Home", came the terse reply, carrying an undertone of menace and warning. With that, the Vulcan strode out of the shipyard.

The two men stared after him for a minute before remembering themselves. Chekov glanced up, his face awash with concern. "Vat vas zhat all about?"

Scotty's eyes still followed the retreating Vulcan. " I dunno and I dinna want to stay to find out. Unload the ship." And he strode back to the ship-top ladder.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Spock's thoughts wandered as he navigated the ground car, destined for his home in the hills of his new planet. Driving was relaxing, a form of meditation in its own way, and he allowed himself to drift towards the situation that dominated his waking and sleeping mind. Catching Scotty's name on the Aberdeen's landing orders in the customs office had been fortuitous indeed. It presented another possible avenue in the puzzle he was currently working out in his own head.

Jim. What to do about Jim.

Actually, Jim was only the peripheral problem. He had regained consciousness aboard the Vulcan ambassadorial shuttle that Spock had piloted away from the Vulcan ship that had received them from the Enterprise. Spock had expected an all out battle of wills from the human once he deduced his present situation but had gotten quite the opposite. Jim had awoken on the couch and swung into a sitting position, appearing ready for a fight. Spock had quickly engaged the auto-pilot and moved into the cabin. Jim sat starring at the hands he held clenched between his knees. His eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily. Hoping to prevent an outburst of human histrionics, Spock moved forward to apply some of the light mind control he had been using on his human mate for the past four months but Jim jerked away and whirled across the room, coming to rest against the back wall of the cabin. Angered, though he would hardly admit it, Spock starred at the human before coolly informing him, "I have resigned my commission to Starfleet. We are en route to the new Vulcan world."

Jim slowly slid to the floor, "And my commission", he asked in a flat voice.

Spock's emotionless face hovered over him, "Starfleet is aware of our situation. They will handle your decommissioning."

Jim starred at the floor for several minutes. Slowly, nursing his healing shoulder, he pushed himself to his feet. As his rose, Spock could see all the aggression leave his body, rushing from his eyes, out of his sagging shoulders and down through his legs. Silently, Jim walked to the front of the shuttle and sat in the co-pilot's chair. He continued to stare at the stars for the remainder to the trip. He spoke not a word and never made eye contact once. He had barely looked Spock for the eye in more than a year.

At their arrival on the planet, Spock was greeted by his father and other important members of the Vulcan council, all supportive of his decision to return home. Spock half-expected Jim to attempt some non-sensical escape tactic but was again surprised. Jim smiled demurely at the Vulcan elders, answered questions politely, but his sparkling personality was gone and the smile never reached his eyes.

Once settled in their new home, he gave Jim several days to acclimate himself to his new surroundings. He was left in relative solitude but Spock knew Jim was completely aware of how carefully his every move was watched. The Vulcan council was apprised of the nature of their relationship. For this decimated people, their pride was one of the few things they had left and they would not allow outsiders to discover their carefully guarded secrets. _Pon Farr. Koon-ut-Kali-fee._ Other people would not understand. And so the human mate of Sarek's son was kept carefully guarded and though the chains were invisible, they hung on Jim's spirit like lead.

At first, Spock had attempted to initiate some sort of normal, marital intimacies into their relationship. Jim didn't fight him, didn't even resist him. If Spock desired to be touched, Jim would touch. Jim would do anything Spock wished. He complied because he didn't wish to be forced, to be reminded of his vulnerability too his Vulcan mate. But despite this compliance, Spock could sense Jim's revulsion and it robbed him of his enjoyment. Though they continued to share a bed, they now kept to their respective sides.

And so life for Jim Kirk progressed on an alien planet. He continued to read avidly, exercised regularly, but suffered from his solitude and unresolved fears. Spock watched his mate go deep inside himself, forming his own protective shield. He blocked a great deal from their bond, blocked it with the strength and determination of a Vulcan, and there, deep within his own psyche, Jim Kirk offered up the only small rebellion he could mount. Spock watched all of this and into this turbulent relationship, another emotion emerged; concern.

When he finally realized that he was suddenly feeling concern for his mate, Spock was immediately forced to recognize that from the onset of his Pon Farr, he hadn't been concerned for Jim at all. Uhura? Perhaps. Himself? Certainly. But not Jim "Why not", he asked himself. It was most illogical, for while Vulcans might claim to feel no emotions, in truth, they did. They felt them all, quite strongly, and even acted upon them. They just didn't wear them on their sleeves or give in to overly emotional displays as humans frequently did. Vulcans might be logical but that didn't mean they were cold. The tenants of Surak allowed for tenderness, compassion and caring. Despite this, Spock had given almost no consideration to Jim except for biological compatibility, despite the enormity of what he asked of the human. To bond with him, to allow him to keep his other lover, to defy his own body's biological design and bear him children?

He acknowledged his _own_ biological imperative as a contributing factor to this disaster. He had been dying. He and Uhura, despite their personal desires, had not been compatible and her body had rejected his children and his attempts to bond. In contrast, his bond with Jim had cemented into place almost the moment he had touched him, despite Jim's active efforts to stop it. It seemed that his body at least was willing to acknowledge his true mate. But, he had fought it, selfishly, though logic should've dictated that he acknowledge the incompatibility and break things off with Uhura. He waited so long that by the time he sought Jim out, he had devolved to the point that he couldn't properly explain himself. And even then, he had immediately tried to force Jim into the role that he wanted him to play. Jim had been correct. He and Uhura wanted Jim to give them children and take care of Spock's physiological urges while they maintained their own relationship, largely unaffected. Neither one had cared how Jim felt and they had played on McCoy's sympathy towards Uhura to gain the doctor's cooperation. In the end, though, Spock had been played for his own fool, unable to even bear Uhura's presence near Jim

Spock had long since arrived at his home but continued to sit in his ground car, pondering his thoughts. This didn't seem like him. In fact, when he looked back over his behavior during the last 18 months, he had to admit he didn't even recognize himself. Ever since Uhura's last miscarriage, and the implications it held for his approaching _pon_ _farr_, he had behaved with an uncharacteristic ruthlessness. Why? Was _this_ his true character finally shining through? Was he really this cold and demanding of those around him? There was no comfort in that thought.

Exiting the car, Spock resolved to meditate on the issue, for whatever good that would do. His meditations had been difficult this past year, jarring instead of soothing his mind. He had delved deeply into the collected katras of his ancestors, looking for their guidance as he approached _pon farr_. Their cacophony of voices had only left him confused and irritated and his meditations hadn't returned to normal sense.

Entering his home, he scanned the open floor plan, searching out his bond mate. Jim was here, he could sense him through their tenuous link, but he was invisible at the moment. Spock felt a bolt of anger well up within him. Closing his eyes, he warred internally, logical mind attempting to subdue raging emotional response. Sighing inwardly, he acknowledged that for all his lofty aspirations of concern and compassion, a large part of him, ancient and primal, still desired to subjugate his mate, to bend the human to his will. He was painfully aware of it, most often at night, when he fought the urge to roll Jim beneath him and sate his desires. "Why don't I," he wondered, "Why would that not be logical, he is my mate, I desire him, I should take him." But his choice of words stopped him cold.

Would it be logical? More importantly, would it be right? If logic was the beginning of wisdom, what was the end? Could it be morality, the simple ability to discern right from wrong, making the choice to do the right thing? If so, Spock suspected this current situation was most _un_wise. Observe. The courageous, foolhardy and good man who had been Captain Jim Kirk was gone. In his place was a hollow shell, no longer even capable of defending itself. What corrupted sense of logic made Spock believe he had the right to inflict this damage on another sentient creature, especially his _mate,_ in order to fulfill his own personal desires? This thought, floating vaguely in his mind for months, crystallized into words and hit him with the force of an angry le'matya. _The right!!! Did he even have the RIGHT!!_ His instinctual desires howled YES while his rational mind pleaded NO. Spock's eyes closed, an unconscious and decidedly illogical effort to block out the onslaught that was taking place inside his head. Quickly recognizing the futility of this tactic, he opened them again and his gaze carried him out the backdoor to the seated form out on the edge of the veranda. Jim's head leaned slightly to the left, his hands playing idly with a piece of grass as he watched the sun slowly sink behind the mountains. He appeared to be far, far away in his thoughts.

"There" Spock decided, "I will begin there." Finally formulating a plan to cope with the restless thoughts and emotions, yes _emotions,_ that had plagued his mind for months, the young Vulcan strode down the steps and out onto the paved veranda overlooking the valley of Vulcan II. "I will know his thoughts, first, and then, when I understand all that he thinks and feels I will weigh them against my own actions.

Approaching his seated mate, Spock noticed Jim's shoulders tense visibly. He sank to his knees behind the cross-legged young human and sat quietly for a moment, searching for the words. Spock noted that Jim's shoulders remained tense and his hands clutched nervously at the long strand of grass he had previously twirled blithely in his fingers. _How to ask him, how to ask_ _this __**thing**__ of him? He would probably prefer I forced him back into my bed_. Deciding that a direct approach was best and brutally suppressing a rising need to gently massage the stress from Jim's shoulders, he said simply, "I wish to meld with you."

Jim's tension became positively palpable. His hands clenched into fists, demolishing the slender leaf of grass that he grasped. Spock needed no touch telepathy to know how badly Jim wished to say no, scream it to the heavens, in fact. The sentiment practically rolled off of his bond mate in waves. He said nothing, though, and Spock waited arduously for a response. He would not push or demand. This new path of self-discovery he had very recently undertaken left no room for taking what was not willingly given from James T. Kirk. This time, he would wait until it was offered freely. Quashing the memories of their bonding encounter, Spock pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind. If Jim acquiesced, Spock would need to be careful. He did not want to re-introduce those memories during the meld.

Jim exhaled slowly and quietly, his body taking on an air of resignation. Swinging himself around, he returned to his cross-legged position, facing Spock. Jim avoided direct eye contact as always but Spock still couldn't help the sudden lurch in his stomach at the nearness of his mate. His calm Vulcan veneer displays no outwards signs, but HE was aware and that was disquieting enough.

Raising his hands to Jim's psi points, he paused and looked at him. "May I do this," he asked. Jim's eyes glanced up, unintentionally meeting the Vulcan's gaze, a look of confusion registering at the obvious sincerity of the request. Spock's answering confusion only lasted a second. Of course Jim would be surprised by the standard question used by all Vulcans before initiating a meld. After all, their first meld included no such request. Recovering and averting his gaze, Jim gave a quick nod of assent and subtly gritted his teeth. Spock rested his fingers on the cool skin of Jim's cheek, finding the psi points. He then gave himself over and sunk into his former captain's mind.

It only took a moment for the extent of Jim's damaged and pained psyche to register for Spock. He found himself standing on a narrow path between what could only be described as two old terran slat dams, of the 1800's Appalachian Mountain variety if terran history served him. The dams stretched up as high as Spock could see. Behind the creaking wooden walls, he could hear the tumultuous onslaught that they held at bay. Emotional leakage ran like water droplets between the slats, down the sides of the dam and into the path, making Spock's footsteps damp and slippery. The walls heaved in and out with the weight of their burden. It was an alien atmosphere, so unlike any other mind he has ever encountered. He could feel Jim's conscious presence but did not attempt contact. If Jim wished to communicate with him all he need do was speak.

Stepping lightly through the muck in the trail, Spock noticed something bright at his feet. Leaning down, he grasped what appeared to be a long, golden strand of yarn, burning brightly and beautifully despite the murky surroundings. As he walked, Spock continued to pull the string up out of the mud it was pressed into. In this fashion he began heading down the pathway, using the glittering yarn as a guide.

After several minutes, Spock recognized the futility of his present course. The path could go on forever, winding between these two walls. However, what Spock needed was presently behind them. He knew that Jim had created these shields. They would certainly explain the resignation to his unwanted marriage and imprisonment (_IMPRISONMENT! Yes, admit it. It is illogical to lie, even to yourself)… . _imprisonment on Vulcan II. Spock considered his options. Breaking the dam would be a violation, he reasoned, but a necessary one. It was the type of violation that was often accomplished through human therapy. This method would be a more jolting experience but Spock needed to see these emotions and Jim needed to feel them if he was ever going to come back to himself. Determinedly, Spock grasped the shining thread, winding it tightly around his head. With one swift movement, he kicked the left side crossbeam with all his strength.

Two things occurred at once. In the real world, he became vaguely of aware of desperate tears coursing down Jim's face and running across the back of his hand where it rested on the young man's cheek. In the soup of whirling emotions that was Jim's mind, Spock felt a tug on the string in his hand. Following it instinctually, he began to navigate the complex mind that enveloped him, quickly sifting through thoughts as he went. Several jumped out, the death of a pet, Jim's first meeting with Captain Pike, the night he lost his virginity…..no, that one had a distinctly manufactured flavor, an air of untruth. The string pulled Spock in that direction and he began his descent into a deep, dark corner of Jim's mind.

Deeper he walked, surrounded on all sides by memories of pain and violation. The thread glowed even brighter against the encompassing blackness. Finally, he came to the end, the string disappearing into a pile of wet, black sand. Dropping the string, Spock sank his hands into the pile and began to sift.

Rape

It jumped out at him, the fear and pain sticking to him like the cloying sand grains that clung to his skin. With sudden understanding, Spock realized that he was not the first person to rape Jim Kirk. His _step-father…..his own STEP-FATHER!_ No, such a relationship was supposed to offer protection and support, like a real father, like a….._first officer to his captain. _Spock sank down, his hands and arms going deep into the wet pile of painful memories before him. He saw the face of a man he didn't know, he saw his own face merge with this man's. Both were pursuing, both were unshakeable, both would NOT STOP and Jim was tired, so tired, why wouldn't they just go away. Spock grimaced. No wonder Jim was so effective a captain. He had received practical training in stealth and evasive maneuvers just to stay alive. And he, Spock, his first officer and….friend. He had recreated Jim's worst nightmare aboard his own ship!

Pulling his hands out of the pile, he grasped almost blindly for the glittery string glowing at his side. He couldn't deny that the string inspired feelings in him, that of comfort and connection. He recognized it for what it was now, the physical manifestation of his bond with Jim. For his mate, though, the bond did not induce feelings of warmth and safety. It led him here, to the times in his life when he was vulnerable and **defenseless, made so by two men who used their superior strength to take from him what he was unwilling** to give and unable to deny.

Spock pulled back. He had his answers. To remain here would be illogical and…cruel. Drawing back quickly, he ended the meld and retracted back into the real world. He found himself no longer sitting up but stretched out along his side next to Jim, who sprawled supine before and slightly under him. With his left hand he cradled Jim's head while his right hovered over his cheek. The sunset had ended long ago and the veranda was illuminated by starlight. Jim's eyes squinted tightly for only a second, then flew open. He sucked in a deep breath and rolled out of Spock's embrace, desperately retreated backwards on his hands and feet, pinning Spock to his spot with a penetrative glare. "Stay the FUCK away from me you BASTARD." Tears still flowed freely down his face, dripping off his chin and soaking his shirt but for the first time in more than a year, Spock detected the strength of will that he associated with Jim Kirk

"Well," he mused silently, "The results of this experience were satisfactory. I have gleaned the necessary knowledge and Jim seems to have recaptured his voice." Rising to his feet, he held his hands up in a show of non-aggression. Jim clearly didn't buy it. He flanked Spock, and dashed past him, bounding down the stairs that led off the ledge of the veranda. Wheeling quickly, Spock's superior reflexes kicked in. He lept down the stairs and intercepted Jim at the bottom, wrapping him in his arms and drawing the human's back into his own chest. Giving in to his rippling emotions for just one second, Spock allowed himself to nuzzle Jim's neck before whispering in his ear, "I am sorry, my friend." Without waiting for a response, Spock brought up his other hand and found the juncture at the base of Jim's neck. He stiffened and then collapsed, allowing Spock to scoop up his mate's prostrate form and carry him into the house. Laying him on their bed, resisting the desire to smooth the hair back from Jim's face, Spock retreated to his meditation room. Hours later, he emerged and placed a call.

* * *

Leonard McCoy leaned back in his chair and took a long swig from his bottle of Brandy. It was not his preferred poison but McCoy had sworn off Whiskey as part of his self-imposed penance for his complicity in the rape of his best friend. He supposed he should have sworn off alcohol all together, but he simply wasn't strong enough to face the guilt unaided. This shitty little back water clinic he currently worked in was also part of that penance. No one wanted this post and with good reason. The continual rain and rocky soil made scratching out an existence hard for the colonists and they were in constant need of medical attention for field related injury and weather related illness. McCoy took on the job almost immediately after the Enterprise docked for refit. He knew he would never work in that sickbay again. He wasn't worthy to serve aboard Jim Kirk's ship. And it would always be Jim's Enterprise, despite the fact that Jim was now…..

McCoy took another long sip from the bottle. That was another reason this posting drew him. The planet was a mere two day's shuttle ride from Vulcan II.

Hours later, McCoy regained consciousness, still seated in his chair. The drained bottle sat in his lap. Bleary eyed, he looked around. Something had woken him, SOMETHING was in his cabin. Something or SOMEONE. In no mood for either friendly games or unfriendly intruders, McCoy grabbed the brandy bottle by the neck and brandished it like a cudgel. _The kitchen, it's in the kitchen_. Awash with the sudden sobriety of rushing adrenaline, McCoy crept towards the back of his cabin. The pounding rain on the roof covered the creaking of his footsteps as he approached his kitchen door. In one fluid motion, he flung it open, slamming it into the wall, crushing any possible intruders who hid there, and flung himself into the opposing corner to assess the room. His eyes immediately alighted on a small, delicate figure gazing out his window. She was dressed in civilian clothing but she was no colonist. Her shoulders hung with the burden of heavy thoughts but McCoy would still have recognized her anywhere.

"Nyota"

"Hello, Len"

She didn't turn and he didn't lower the brandy bottle. The presence of Nyota Uhura in his kitchen represented a much bigger threat to his well being than fools bent on robbery. She had the power to crush his soul with memories and realities that he fought to keep at bay. "What are you doing here, Nyota."

The young Lieutenant didn't turn. She didn't answer for many minutes. Finally, in a voice barely discernable above the deluging rain, she said, "I have to tell, Len. I would like you to tell with me."

McCoy paused, then erupted. "Tell. TELL. You want to tell!!!!! NOW! You were the reason we didn't tell a year ago. You were the reason we gave Jim up to whatever fate he has suffered for the last 12 months. YOU, Nyota. You wanted HIM protected. You wanted HIM to have his mate. And I tried to reason what would be the best possible outcome for a shitty situation that YOU and I practically created. And now you want us to tell. Who…..Starfleet? You want us to go to the President of the Federation and tell them that the Vulcan golden boy who single handedly rescued the Vulcan elders, the son of Sarek, the direct descendant of SURAK for god's sake…. Raped our captain, forced him into an unwanted marriage, took over his ship, and then kidnapped him!!!! I don't know about you, girl, but I'm a doctor, not a magician and it will take one HELL of a trick to get that situation brought to court.

Uhura paused, ingesting his words.

"You're right."

"I know."

"But……Len"

"Yeah."

"Can you sleep?"

""

"Len"

""

Uhura placed her hand on the windowpane. It was cold. She waited.

"Alright, you win. We tell."


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: 6 months later

The cargo ship Aberdeen moved through space at a steady warp two, skirting the edge of the Romulan neutral zone. She was three days ahead of her docking date and her captain saw no need to put a strain on her engines. Engaging auto-pilot, Montgomery Scott headed towards the rear of his ship to check on the rowdy group of lowlifes he affectionately called his crew. He paused for a moment to examine Chekov's wall of Putinka labels, a fitting tribute to Mother Russia. A few weeks ago, Jim had pasted a picture of Tolstoy among the liquor labels and made a comment about classing the place up. Scotty had laughed half-heartedly. _Still with the damned books._

Scotty had hovered and fretted like an overprotective mother when they first brought him on board but after regaining consciousness Jim had been quick to point out that getting nerve pinched and waking up on a strange ship was nothing new to him. Scotty wished he could maintain that kind of stoicism. A little applied self-control might have stopped him from splitting Spock's lip open when he had opened the door to admit them to his home.

"Och, we are fucked,"He had immediately thought," We are so very fucked."

"Frontways, sideways and everyways possible," Chekov's eyes had agreed. But Spock had merely wiped the blood from his chin and walked deeper into the house, already giving them instructions.

"You will need to avoid all local trade routes and under no circumstances will you return to this plant. You have only one real prerogative here Mr. Scott."

"Oh, Aye, and just what might that be"

"You need to keep him far away from me. Right now, I am in complete control. However, I do not know how long that will last." He paused, "I can assess from your body language that there are a great many things you would feel justified in saying to me right now but I must caution you not to test me."

Scotty bristled, "Spock, I'm na a man of words, I'm a man of action. And I already said my piece when you let us in."

Walking up to a closed door, Spock entered the master bedroom with Scotty and Chekov close at his heels. Scanning the room, they saw Jim still sprawled unconscious across the bed.

"Och, Jesus, Mary and the Angels, what did ya do to him," Scotty was becoming sorely tempted to take another misguided swing at the Vulcan.

"He is unharmed. I melded with him earlier this evening, with his consent, in order to glean some answers I needed. It unleashed many painful emotions, of which I am a large part, and he became irrational. I incapacitated him for his own protection."

Scotty sucked in an angry breath. He cleared his head with a quick shake, " Foin, foin, whatever. What now?"

"Now you take him and leave. Get as far away from this planet as you can. You both have first-hand experience with a part of me that will literally kill and destroy to get him back. I strongly suggest you remember that."

Scotty and Chekov moved towards their friend's prone form. Fortunately, their new life among roughnecks had provided them with ample opportunities to drag unconscious crewmen out of seedy establishments. They quickly put that expertise to work, each grabbing Jim by an arm and draping them around their shoulders. Allowing his feet to drag and his head to lull, they headed for the door.

"Wait"

At that one word, Scotty was tempted to just bolt with his former captain but he knew such an effort would be futile. Pausing, he watched nervously as Spock approached and draped something over Jim's head. Tucking it carefully under his shirt, Spock walked back across the room and starred at the wall. "Lovely," sarcasm dripped from Scotty's voice, "I don't suppose he has a coat?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chekov shoot him a murderous look. He could hear the kid's voice in his head. _Great, Keptin. Lets bait the wiscious Wulcan! _

Spock exhaled loudly. "There is no time for this. You must go."

Chekov began pulling them towards the door¸ no longer trusting either man's state of mind. But Scotty just wasn't ready to let it go just yet. As they reached the door, he called over his shoulder, "Are ya going ta sick Starfleet on us?"

A horrendous crash shook the home. Scotty turned to see Spock pull his fist out of a hole in the stone balustrade. He turned on the three humans, eyes ablaze and a voice of thunder, "Mr. Scott. You seriously underestimate the precariousness of your situation. LEAVE!!!!!!!!!!! NOW!!!!!!!!!

Scotty didn't argue.

They had made good their escape and quickly cleared Vulcan space. Jim had put a good face forward but Scotty could see the trainwreck that was hovering just below the surface. Well, he reckoned, saving his former captain was not just about getting him off that planet. Jim was broken and needed to be put back together. And Scotty promised himself that he would help do it. He would slip into whatever role Jim needed, be it friend, doctor, mother, or priest but he was going to help the fearless, cocky, charismatic Jim Kirk claw his way back to himself.

The first role Scotty fulfilled was drill-sergeant. The Jim Kirk he remembered needed to be active and get things accomplished. With this in mind, Scotty knocked on Jim's door on the second morning out from Vulcan II, carrying a jumpsuit and a pair of heavy work boots. "Time to start payin yer way, laddy," and as he handed over the clothes he received the first real smile he had seen from Jim Kirk in almost two years. Jim threw himself into the activities of the crew, the work giving him a sense of accomplishment and purpose that he had sorely missed in the last eighteen months. He lived, worked and socialized with the crew and slowly regained the sense of social comfort he had lost in his largely solitary life on Vulcan II.

Flush with his first success, the Captain initiated step two of the Montgomery Scott sure-fire journey to mental health: therapy. Jim needed to talk, scream, cry or whatever but he couldn't keep that maelstrom bottled up inside of him. Trained psychologists all had tactics to elicit respoonses from their patients and Scotty, a true pioneer in the field, knew a tried and true method to loosen the tongue. He called it Scotch. Roughly twice a week, Scotty would convince Jim to join him for a drink. It was amazing what Jim would reveal with a couple of shots in him. Much of it was to be expected; fear, rage, helplessness. But eventually he confessed some things that Scotty found hard to hear. Like Jim's struggle to learn how to sleep alone. Or, even worse, the fact that he could still feel Spock in his mind, out on the periphery like fingertips gently brushing over skin. Jim admitted that he sometimes took comfort in the feeling, especially while he slept. Worst of all though, he discovered the truth about Jim's stepfather and realized that Spock had actually only re-damaged his young friend.

Slowly but surely, Jim Kirk was re-emerging into the world. His grin and infectious charm made frequent appearances and his recklessness often reared its ugly head, much to Scotty's chagrin. However, thrilled as he was by the progress, Scotty knew that there was something missing, the headstrong self-confidence that had been Jim's defining characteristic and he resolved that step three in the master plan to put his friend Jim back together again had to be some sort of cataclysmic jolt that would allow the young man to finally shake off the rest of his chains.

Chekov had suggested that maybe the kick that Jim needed was to be re-introduced into the world of women. Scotty thought the idea had some merit. After all, that had always been a field in which Jim displayed that vaunted self-confidence. On their next stop, in a seedy little outpost called Nolan's Landing, Scotty and the crew had gone on the prowl, scouring the compound's many fine drinking establishments for just the right lady. Finally settling on a lovely young red head, Scotty walked her to the table where Jim sat, downing a beer with a deeply inebriated Chekov. "Jim, my boy, I'd like ya to meet Nisa"

Jim's contented expression melted away. His eyes shifted to Scotty's desperately before turning back to the woman who was leaning in towards him. Jim slid off his stool in the opposite direction and raised his arms as shield in front of him before fixing Nisa with a kind smile, "I'm sorry ma'am but there seems to be some mistake," he trained his eyes back to Scotty, "I'm, um, married." And with a quick nod, Jim headed towards the door.

Scotty took a moment to compose his scattered thoughts. _Jim was MARRIED!!! Well, yes technically Jim was married but that didn't mean….did it mean….WHAT EXACTLY DID IT MEAN!!!!!! _Turning on his heels, Scotty raced after his friend.

A light dusting of snow was falling as he gained the road. Looking left, he spotted Jim about twenty yards down the road, heading away from the shipdock. Breaking into a jog, he called out, "Hey, you, James T. Kirk. You dunna just drop a bomb like that on me and think ye'll be walking away. Now, ya get over here and explain yerself!"

Jim allowed him to catch up but didn't turn around. As Scotty walked around to face him he realized that Jim's face was contorted and he was fighting tears. Opening his eyes, he fixed them on Scotty. "Look, I don't need you to get me a girl, okay."

"Foin, whatevers your pleasure. But ya need to explain that other statement my boy…NOW!"

Jim exhaled deeply and looked up a the sky. Long minutes passed as he collected himself. Finally, he turned and fixed his eyes upon the jumpy Scotsman.

"Scotty, Vulcan bonding is nothing like human marriage. The fact that I left him doesn't dissolve the union. When we….during…on the ship, he put something in my head. It's a link between our minds. That's what I meant when I told you I could still feel him in my head. Because he _is_ actually there, and I'm still in his. It doesn't go away unless one of us dies."

Scotty stared for a second, "Foin then, I understand you can still sense him but tell me, why should that influence your behavior one wee bit? He hurt you Jim. Tell me, are ya planning on staying true to him anyway?"

Jim looked away.

"Och, Jim you canna be serious. Why"

Jim turned, a heated rage marring his features.

"Dammit, Scotty, can't I keep anything to myself. Do you really want to know? Because I LOVE HIM, Scotty. OKAY. A part of me loves him and misses him so bad that it keeps me up at night. It physically FUCKING HURTS." He paused and took a breath, "Sometimes I actually lie in bed fixating on that little bit of his presence that I can still feel and I try to will myself to reach across space and find him. And he does it, too. It's like we're almost touching, fingertips just kind of grazing and I'll stay up all night just trying to find that small connection. Do you get it now. I love him….and I absolutely fucking HATE myself for it"

In full emotional upheaval, Jim turned and punched a nearby wall with all his might.

"FUCK" and he leaned into the wall, burying his head in his hands.

Scotty stood still for a moment, digesting what he had just heard. He didn't wish to further upset his friends but…

"Jim, I'm sorry. I dinna know. But you have ta tell me. Can Spock use this link to find you?"

Jim raised his head and smiled, but his eyes remained cold, "We're way too far away. Vulcans have to touch another person to really see what's going on in their head."

Scotty nodded. Jim brought his hands up and wiped his face. Fixing Scotty with a glare, he asked, "Do you have any more questions for me, Mr. Scott."

"No, sir"

Jim turned to walk away, then paused for a moment and swung back.

"You know, its easy to forget, cause of everything else that's happened, but remember Scotty, he was my friend, one of my best friends, for years before all of this happened. Don't you remember all the shit he and I pulled off together? He saved my life and I save his dozens of times. And then, in the course of one conversation he somehow became my worst nightmare. And here you are, always wanting me to come to terms with my feelings? Jesus Christ, Scotty, where would I even fucking start."

So, Jim clearly didn't need a girl. Some sleeping pills and an exorcism maybe but no girl. At first, Scotty had tried to approach Jim about his revelations on Nolan's Landing but Jim was reluctant to speak about it and Scotty deduced that his young friend might just need to wade through some of the shitty emotional baggage by himself. Instead, Scotty began to think long and hard about just what kind of jolt Jim really needed. He was still searching as the Aberdeen pulled into port two days later. Orm Pithe, armpit of the quadrant. The little planet was roughly the size of Earth's moon and just as inhospitable. An overzealous customs agent had held up docking process and by the time Chekov had gotten them cleared to unload, it was too dark. A frustrated Captain Scott turned his crew loose on the base. "Keep your heads about ya,"he ordered, "This place is a rough town."

Collecting Chekov and Jim, Scotty resolved to go blow off some steam. With that in mind, he headed towards An'duns, a bar on the outskirts that ran a gambling ring for amateur fighters. Jim had never been to Orm Pithe and he seemed keenly interested in Scotty's description of the fights.

Hours later a fairly plastered Captain Scott was considering raising his bet on the Andorian who was currently pummeling the crap out of some poor, unidentifiable green creature. Chekov was barely conscious and Jim was discussing the match with keen enthusiasm with their neighbors at the next table. Something caught Scott's eye and he looked over at a man who obviously intended to be one of the next challengers. It wasn't the man's physicality that caught Scott's attention. Granted, the guy was built like a tree, standing almost six foot five, with thick, ropy hair that resembled a horse's mane tumbling down his back. What stood out most, though, was the man's noxious attitude. He shouldered through the crowd, glaring contemptuously at any one who said anything and even fondled the waitress, who clearly didn't appreciate the attention. But the final straw came when Scotty's little friend Keenser tried to pass by on his way. With a quick, backward glance, the giant kicked Keenser in the back, knocking him to the floor.

Scotty leaped up, Jim right beside him, the two of them intent on murder. Two steps into their death charge though, Scotty pulled to a halt and grabbed Jim along side of him. An idea of shear brilliance flashed across his mind. HERE was the jolt he had been looking for. Captain James T. Kirk, the champion of the underdog, had never looked more courageous and confident then when he had charged into an uphill battle in the name of justice. It was the kind of thing Jim had excelled at in his captaincy. Jumping on a bar stool, Scotty called out loudly "Hey, you all. I would like to wager 200 credits that my good friend here can knock that romy bastard on his bleeding arse" And he smirked at the tree man across the way.

The crowd roared its approval. Bets started flying all over the room. Jim just stared at the half-drunk Scotsmen.

"You realize I'm gonna get my ass handed to me, right."

"Ah, a good sign. You dinna even think about refusing." Pulling Jim back to their table, Scotty continued, "This is the best thing for ya, my boy. This is the kinda fight ya used to live for. Think on it. Big bully who uses his size to abuse the little people. Now tell me, laddie, how does that make ya feel." And he sat back with a satisfied look.

Jim's face set in a look of serious concentration. His opponent with the enormous hair looked over at him and smirked. Oh no, big mistake. Without preamble, Jim pulled his shirt off and strode through the crowd toward the center circle.

The first punch came from Mr. Tree. Jim avoided it easily but almost walked into the next one. The force of the hit flung him into the onlookers, who caught him and began to push him back, laughing and jeering. Scotty stood on his stool far back from roaring crowd. He chewed his lip nervously; this was definitely a gamble because if Jim did lose, he wasn't sure what it would do to the poor kid's head. _Come on, laddie, remember all those books. Forget his size and use that brain ya beefed up._

Jim seemed to be considering his options. He danced around the outside of the ring, keeping just outside of his opponent's reach. A cut on his forehead bled down the side of his face but he'd had worse. Calmly, Jim plotted. He would need to systematically test for weaknesses on Mr. Tree. This would mean moving into the line of fire but after all, worthwhile accomplishments usually involved some sacrifice.

He ducked in and struck out at the tree's chin. It was like hitting a steel post. Clearly not the weak spot he was looking for. In addition the tree caught him in diaphragm and knocked the wind from him. He saw the man move to drive a punch into his back and quickly whirled away but he had to take a moment and recover his breath. He took the time to quickly peruse his opponents form. Hmmmmmm, the man was barrel chested, which meant a solid rib cage but the man's height probably accounted for a more exposed mid-section. Jim had to go for kidney shots. In all honesty, it seemed a bit unsporting but after all, the guy had kicked Keenser, who was less than four feet tall.

"What are you waiting for, coward," the tree taunted. Jim smiled up at him calmly and then rushed. His first punch caught Mr. Tree firmly in the left side. The man hunched over but managed to use his forearm to push Jim in the other direction. Thinking on his feet, Jim took the opportunity to drive his elbow into the man's other kidney. Pushing away, Jim pivoted as his opponent involuntarily leaned forward. He struck out with his left fist, burying it in the asshole's eye. He then clasped both hands together and put his whole body into the swing, reconnecting with the underside of Mr. Tree's chin. His head snapped back, his body followed, and Mr. Tree hit the floor.

_Timber_

The crowd exploded, hoisting Jim onto their shoulders. Caught up in the moment, Jim howled in triumph, holding an arm in the air. He began to shake and slap the proferred hands of the crowd, smiling that million watt smile. Across the room, Scotty sat on his stool, noticeably unaffected by the charismatic young victor who was currently whipping the crowd into a frenzy. After all, he had witnessed similar scenes many times on the bridge of the USS Enterprise.


	6. Chapter 5

Okay, it has been brought to my attention that this story might not need an M rating but I would prefer to ere on the side of caution. Also, there is some solid M material on the horizon.

It has also been brought to my attention that I have forgotten to disclaim, so here it goes:

Paramount owned Star Trek when I wrote ch. 2

Paramount owned Star Trek when I wrote ch. 3

Paramount owned Star Trek when I wrote ch. 4

And now I have written ch. 5 and Paramount still owns Star Trek.......mores the pity.

* * *

Chapter Five

Hours later, Jim lay awake in his cabin, nursing his splitting head and bruised stomach. Really, though, he'd experienced much worse. Four years of landing parties had led to broken noses, fingers, four cracked ribs on Ekos. Then of course there was the royal ass kicking he'd gotten from Nero. And his beatdown on the bridge, courtesy of Spock.

Jim closed his eyes against the flow of images but they rose up inside his mind, impossible to block. In times past, McCoy would be clucking over him like a mother hen right now and Spock would be calmly explaining the illogical nature of Jim's actions. They would be stern but he would smile and they would be won over. Jim sighed. It was futile to pretend he didn't miss them. A victory like this just wasn't the same without them. And what, he wondered, did that say about him. Bones had betrayed him when he had needed him most but as furious and hurt as he felt, Jim couldn't forget all the times before when Bones had been the one to save his sorry ass. Bones had dragged him home from bars, made him hangover remedies, and jumped into fights he would otherwise have avoided because he always had Jim's back. Bones had been a damn good friend and Jim found his absence devastating.

And Spock. What Spock had done fucking defied description. The physical violation and complete domination he had experienced at Spock's hands had left him vulnerable and humiliated. But what Jim found most unbearable was the way Spock had stripped him of his best friend. In the past, when he was angry, scared or hurting, he went to his first officer but who could he turn to when Spock was the one doing the terrorizing and causing the pain?

There were moments when he felt that he would gladly see Spock dead, even do the honors himself. Those were moments when the powerlessness of those eighteen months threatened to overtake him. But those moments were conflicted because as much as he's like to deny it, Jim had experienced some very good feelings too. With Spock he had felt cherished, desired, and protected and those feelings managed to be heady and shameful at the same time. His pride and fear had bolstered him through the first year but he had felt their bond drawing him in, weakening his defenses, and he knew that if he hadn't left he inevitably would've succumbed. As the year on Vulcan II had progressed, Spock's erratic behavior had largely stopped and he had begun to resemble his old self. Lonely and missing his friend, despite his fears, Jim had found Spock hard to resist in every sense. In truth, there were long nights when he had clung to his leftover rage and embarrassment as a buffer to keep from rolling over and reaching out for the sleeping Vulcan. He knew that Spock wanted him, too, wanted this bond and he felt a cruel comfort in the knowledge that in the end, Spock had driven Nyota away and kept him. It was shameful and intoxicating and the conflicting emotions made Jim want to scream. Even worse, they sometimes made him want to jump ship and head back to Vulcan. What motivated this; masochism, Stockholm syndrome, the irresistibility of the bond? No, he feared it was what he had told Scotty, he feared it was love.

His fears held him back. Pain, comfort, desire, humiliation. All these emotions were dramatic and complex but the fear was simple and bleak. He had been terrified by the ease with which Spock physically dominated him. It had resurrected all sorts of insecurities about his ability to protect himself and shattered his confidence. A person who couldn't defend himself was always a potential victim, a target, and he just couldn't bear seeing himself in that light.

Jim now realized why Scotty had pushed him into that fight. His victory had gone a long way towards reminding the former starship captain of just what he was capable of when he put his mind to it. His confidence in his physical abilities was returning, finally allowing him to combat his fear. The irony was that the person with whom he most wanted to share this news was responsible for stealing that confidence in the first place.

Jim exhaled. Before he had become his enemy, Spock had been his best friend. Bones had been his best friend. And at this moment, despite all the hate, pain, and fear that they invoked in him, Jim just wanted them to be there. Bones was out of the question. But perhaps….

Gathering all of his strength, Jim pushed out with his mind, searching for that tiny, fleeting presence that was Spock. He was not the real telepath in this bond and he knew there was no chance of success if Spock was not actively searching for him at this very moment but he pushed anyway. Suddenly he felt it, that gentle, distant brush, like the tips of fingers just managing to bump into contact. Drawing on strength he didn't know he had, Jim pushed out with his mind just a little more. The mental fingertips bumped, crossed, gaining just enough ground to barely thread together. Jim clung to the contact, feeling a sense of warmth and peace wash over him. The paradox of this bond, that it should be the cause of his fears and yet calm them at the same time.

What was that? He had heard something, not more than a whisper in the wind. Redoubling his energy, he pushed a little more, felt the fingertips of his mind creep just a fraction closer and then…

"_Thy'la"_

"_Spock?"_

"_You are hurt"_

"_Bar fight"_

"_Ah"_

Jim almost chuckled. He could almost see the eyebrow raising at him. And Spock could tell that he was hurt. But he suddenly recognized that Spock….

"_Spock"_

"_Yes"_

"_You're hurt!"_

The fingers slipped. Jim clung harder but they slid fractionally again.

"_SPOCK"_

No words came but a sudden rush of warmth suffused Jim, like a full body static shock that left him tingling from head to toe. He reached again through the bond but didn't find a hand to meet him. He reached out and out, as far as he could, but this time there was no one on the other end.

* * *

Montgomery Scott was beginning to think that things were finally coming right with the universe. Jim Kirk had recaptured his innate ability for hell-raising and ass-kicking and Scotty had happily collected two-hundred bucks. Add to that the fact that his hardworking crew of unwashed miscreants had unloaded and reloaded the ship's cargo in record time and Scotty thought life was just about perfect. Well, it would be perfect if Jim would get off the damn computer already.

"Och, what are ya doing. You've been at it for hours"

Jim didn't even look up, "I'm looking for something."

"What?"

Jim blinked at the computer screen in frustration. Exhaling dramatically, he turned with a slight smile on his face, "You know what? I don't even know. I just have a bad feeling I can't seem to shake."

"Well, then forget it already and come out with me and the boys. If yer really feeling that poorly we can head back down the street and ya can kick a bit more tail. Besides, Pavel's stuck on board tonight and he needs the computer. It's the only way he gets to see women without their clothes on," Scotty ducked as Chekov hurled a stylus at his head.

Resigned, Jim stood up and grabbed his coat, noticing how eagerly Chekov slid into the chair behind him.

"Why do you always have to pick on the poor kid?"

"Because he's a nineteen year old virgin…..and he keeps calling my ship a "wessel".

Seven hours later, Scotty brought up the rear of a very drunk Aberdeen crew. As they stumbled up the gangplank, he noticed Chekov leaning against the bulkhead. The young Russian caught Scotty's eyes and gestured for the Captain to follow him. Reaching the rec room, Chekov turned and shut the door.

"Keptin, I need to show you somezing."

Scotty was too hammered to take in Chekov's disturbed expression, "Shite, boy, didya fall prey to yer own overzealous right hand again. Remember Pav, if it falls off, isna gonna grow back" Falling over himself with laughter, Scotty plunked down on the rec room couch and looked at his first mate expectantly. He quickly observed that Chekov didn't look annoyed or amused. In fact, the kid looked miserable and a little nauseous. Suddenly concerned, Scotty shook his head to clear it a little. "Okay, laddie, let's have it."

"Keptin, before you left, Jim vas searching for federation news vreels," Chekov paused and Scotty had the sinking sensation that he was gearing up to drop a bomb," Vell, vhile you vere out, a breaking news report came in on one of the channels. You need to take a look." Chekov walked over and keyed up the computer.

Catching Chekov's worried eyes, Scotty walked over and sat at the console. Exhaling softly, he began to read.

"The Judge Advocate General's Office will be convening a hearing…………. Two ranked commissioned officers, formerly of the USS Enterprise have offered up testimony…………………..the first Vulcan to enlist in Starfleet, Captain Spock cha Sarek (ret.), former captain of……………………Vulcan High Council will cease to block extradition………………….. details remain sketchy but the charges seem to revolve around accusations of assault and kidnapping against Captain Spock perpetrated against his former commanding officer¸ Captain James Tiberius Kirk (ret.), also of the USS Enter………….. SHIT………….Shit, shit, shit!!!!!!!!!!!"

Scotty flew out of the console chair, rage mounting and threatening to explode. He quickly scanned the room for a possible target that wasn't his ship or his first mate. Eyes landing on the old couch, the captain proceeded to pummel and kick the unfortunate piece of furniture, firing off a string of expletives that would have made other Scotsmen blush. Finally, his anger spent, he collapsed into the abused couch and put his head in his hands.

"This is exactly what I wanted to avoid, Pavel. THIS is what I dinna want ta happen. I knew I'd find a way ta get him away someday. I just dinna want everyone to know. How is he supposed to live with it now? Don't those two ever, EVER think," and he drove another solid punch into the arm of the couch.

"Those two, Keptin?"

"Yes, Mr. Chekov, those two commissioned officers. The one who's a doctor……and the one who's a bitch."

Chekov digested this. Yes, Sulu was too removed from the situation. It could only be Uhura and McCoy. Ironic, seeing as how Uhura had been so dead set on them all keeping their damn mouths shut.

Chekov sank into the couch next to Scotty, "Vhat do ve do now, Keptin"

Scotty sighed loudly, "We gather some info. It's time we put that boy genius brain ta work again. And when we have a firm handle on the situation, we tell him. In the meantime, let him sleep," Leaning his head back and closing his eyes, he thought, "Jesus Christ, when does the poor chap finally get a break."


	7. Chapter 6

The concept of Vulcans possibly being invaded by their ancestral katras was inspired by the incredible author of Star Trek: TOS fanfics, Cheree Cargill

And Paramount STILL owns Star Trek

* * *

Ch. 6

Judge Advocate General Percy Sheffield looked out over the assembled crowd with an air of dark humor. If the circumstances surrounding this gathering had been different, it might have been amusing. Never in his life had he seen so many self-important egos in one room manage to be this quiet. But the circumstances were what they were and as Judge Sheffield perused the filled to capacity crowd they horned into every corner of Courtroom #3 at Starfleet Command, he swore he could've heard a pin drop.

Along the front left side of the gallery, the admirals were all seated in dress uniform to observe the proceedings. Several representatives from the Federation President's office were seated behind them. Numerous Federation ambassadors filled the first six rows of the right gallery and Judge Sheffield acknowledged to himself that the outcome of these proceedings could have far-reaching consequences for all Federation worlds. Quickly, scanning the diplomats, Sheffield noted the conspicuous absence of Vulcan Ambassador Sarek.

Several lesser JAG officers sat at the front table, serving as prosecutors. The table for the defense was as yet empty. Whether it would stay so remained to be seen. This was not an actual trial, after all, only a hearing called to establish whether the burden of proof had been met by the prosecution. The accused was not even required to attend if he did not wish to. Besides, the proceedings were not scheduled to begin until 9am¸which was still three minutes away. And if there was thing Judge Sheffield knew about Vulcans, it was their belief in precise punctuality.

With a quick glance to his watch, Sheffield scanned the rest of his courtroom. His eyes rested on the two Starfleet officers seated to the far right. They did not look expectant or even a bit giddy, as many of the other spectators currently cramming into the court. In fact, they both appeared resigned and rather emotionless. Many observers might have been surprised by the outward appearance of these two officers, who held the distinction of accusers in the drama that was set to play out. Sheffield, however, had been privy to both of their hearings. He had even passed sentence personally on the young communications officer. He had listened to them as they detailed the moral depravity and ambiguity they had both stepped in and he had seen the weight of the despair on their shoulders.

And speaking of moral depravity, the rest of the courtroom was absolutely brimming with press.

Sheffield glared at the vultures. "Should have made it a damned closed session," he thought tiredly. He glanced at his watch again. It was now one minute to nine.

Millions of miles away, Jim sat in the Aberdeen rec room with Scotty and Chekov, their eyes glued to the view screen, watching the proceedings as they unfolded in courtroom #3. Scotty had kicked the rest of the crew out when they had reached the tiny port of Greel, out of the edge of federation space. The crew of the Aberdeen had been sticking to peripheral settlements for a month now, ever since the Federation had become so very interested in the current location of one James Tiberius Kirk.

It had taken Chekov more than three days to finally hack the Starfleet JAG files to access the official records on _Starfleet vs. Captain Spock cha Sarek (ret.) of Vulcan. _Once in, they discovered files and records of an investigation that went back more than five months, conducted under circumstances of absolute secrecy. An official complaint of misconduct against a fellow officer had been filed, regarding charges of sexual assault, false imprisonment and professional slander made by Chief Medical Officer Leonard McCoy and Communications Officer Nyota Uhura, formerly of the USS Enterprise. Chekov had been surprised and a bit cruelly gratified to see that McCoy and Uhura were listed as the accused as well as accusers. Their hearings and sentencing had been handled separately. The majority of the file seemed to consist of mud that Starfleet had desperately tried to throw into the wheels of the legal proceedings. It seemed that some of the Federation higher-ups were most _uninterested_ in dragging the rape and kidnapping of a decorated starship captain by another decorated starship captain into the light. They also seemed most _uncomfortable_ with emerging evidence that the events aboard the Enterprise had taken place with Starfleet's written approval. And they most definitely did not want to deal with the PR nightmare that would arise from trying to extradite a son of the clan of Surak to Earth to answer the charges. From the tone of the file, Starfleet seemed almost desperate to shut McCoy and Uhura up.

Jim had laughed when he saw that. _Good luck, boys._ Jim was still a long way from forgiving his old friend Bones but he still knew the man well, and respected his tenacity. As far as Bones had been aware, Jim was still Spock's prisoner on Vulcan and he knew that once his old friend had made the conscious decision to see him set free, no political juggernaut in the world was going to waylay him. As for Uhura, maybe she was trying to make her peace with God.

The Starfleet records have given them valuable information but Scotty wasn't stopping until he had the whole picture. Once they realized that they couldn't silence their two wayward officers, Starfleet had relented and sent an official extradition notice to Vulcan II. They most likely imagined that would be the end of the situation. Spock, son of Sarek, had the right to diplomatic immunity from Starfleet prosecution. What more, he was technically decommissioned and out from under their authority. Finally, Starfleet brass knew that the Vulcan High Council could simply deny the request and rely on the recent loss of Vulcan and their own need for cultural privacy and autonomy as a shield behind which the Federation dare not tread. Ultimately, no one in Starfleet was expecting Spock to show up and face rape charges.

Except that the last page in the file, dated less than two weeks ago, indicated Spock's intention to do just that.

Scotty wasn't content just to know what. He wanted to know why. And the answer to that question wasn't to be found in the Starfleet files. So Scotty had returned to Chekov with a far more daunting task. Take on a system designed by an entire planet full of brainiacs who were fanatically overprotective of their secrets. Hack the computers of the Vulcan High Council.

At first, Chekov had looked like he might faint or even throw up. But he had risen to the occasion. Sustained by gallons of coffee and the force of Scotty's will, Chekov had broken the system in just under six days. The contents had been enlightening and disturbing. Simply put, Scotty had grown comfortable thinking about Spock as a shameless, self-gratifying bastard and the council's files shook those assumptions to their core.

The events that he recounted to Jim were these. Approximately two weeks after they had made good their escape on the Aberdeen, Spock had reported the events to the High Council. Scotty immediately recognized the two week waiting period as a buffer provided to him by Spock in order to prevent the council from pursuing the Aberdeen, just in case any council members decided to get all _illogical_ about it. Spock had provided a detailed account of the true nature of his relationship with Jim, dispensing his belief that it violated both Starfleet law and Vulcan custom. Here the language became rather opaque but seemed to suggest that Spock had somehow "improperly accessed and assimilated his ancestral collective". Deciding not to unpack _that_ loaded statement just yet, Scotty read on. In the face of the council, Spock rejected the notion that his actions could be excused because he was experiencing _pon farr_, pointing out that he had actively participated in pre-meditation and collaboration in order to bring about his intended results. Finally, he requested permission to return to Starfleet Headquarters to make a formal confession of his actions.

The Council, of course, had refused. Such a confession would involve revealing many of Vulcan's most carefully guarded secrets. They decreed that justice could be served best on their new home planet. Spock was immediately placed under arrest and had remained in custody ever since.

At that point, Scotty had stopped reading and glanced at Jim. "So he wanted to come clean," he mumbled. Jim made no indication that he had even heard, just leaned his head back and stared pensively at the ceiling. Scotty turned back to the computer.

And now things began to get interesting. According to the file, a "most illogical mind" had suddenly entered into the debate. Spock's petition to be removed to Starfleet was taken up by a third party. This representative's argument before the council stretched on for three days and was quite straight forward. Vulcan had voluntarily joined the United Federation of Planets. In doing so, they had been exposed to many aspects of other cultures which they found distasteful. Vulcan, it would seem, had reserved the right to pass judgment on these other cultural practices without being upfront about their own possibly questionable beliefs. Spock's representative had gone on to say that the United Federation of Planets was intended to be a _unified_ body. Unification required trust. Trust required disclosure and Vulcan had been most unwilling to disclose. This was an illogical act in a world where other people could be affected or even hurt by Vulcan's practices. In fact, if Starfleet had been provided with a full understanding of _pon farr_, they would never have approved Spock's request to pursue James Kirk and the entire situation might have been avoided. Finally, the representative had stated in no uncertain terms that if Spock's request was denied then he would personally go to Starfleet Command and lay out in detail all manner of Vulcan's cultural _quirks_.

Spock's request to undergo extradition was formally granted.

Scotty glanced up from the computer screen, "Who is this guy,"he mused, "He must hae steel re-inforced balls! Isna Sarek, is it."

Jim shook his head, "You can't tell?"

"Ya mean ya know?"

"Well, if I had to guess I'd say it was my old friend from Delta Vega."

Scotty smacked his forehead, "Ya mean Spock. I mean, the other one? Where the hell was he this whole time?"

Jim shrugged, "I'm not too sure of the details Scotty. After all, I didn't really have access to that kind of information while I was living there, but I recall that he was off planet personally collecting some Vulcans who had been living out near non-Federation space. Me on that planet was like a deep dark secret, Scotty. There's no way he found out until he got back."

That had left Scotty somewhat mollified. Over the next few weeks, they had relocated the Aberdeen to a planet within reach of Earth's signals but far away enough to avoid any detection. While they were not technically wanted men, Chekov had pointed out that as former Starfleet officers, they could be re-comissioned at any time and declared AWOL. Starfleet, they knew, would love to tie up the nice little lose end that was Jim Kirk and his band of merry rescuers. And so, safely ensconced a respectable distance from Earth, the three former crewmen of the USS Enterprise turned their attention to the hearing that was about to commence.

Judge Sheffield watched the second hand on his watch as it clicked towards the appointed time. 5,4,3,2,1. At exactly 9 am, the doors to Courtroom #3 were pushed open. Three Vulcan men entered and striding down the center aisle towards the JAG commission. They wore matching robes that designated their clan and matching composed and unemotional expressions. They stared straight ahead as they walked, seemingly oblivious to the whispers that now flew across the courtroom.

It was an impressive sight, Sheffield had to admit. The Vulcan to the rear right was easily recognizable. Sarek, Vulcan ambassador to Earth, had foregone his duty as ambassador today and instead walked in the role of supportive father. The man to his left bore a striking resemblance to him and Sheffield felt he should know the face. Suddenly, the truth dawned. This man was Ambassador Spock, returned from the future several years ago and currently active in promoting the growth and development of Vulcan II. He was also obviously here in a supportive role.

The third man cut perhaps the most impressive figure. Wrapped in his clan colors, he maintained complete eye contact with the JAG commission as he neared the front of the room. He appeared serene and Sheffield got the distinct impression that the young Vulcan viewed these proceedings with profound relief. Foregoing the normal formalities, the young man stepped up to the podium in the center of the room and began to address the court.

"Members of the court, I am Spock cha Sarek of Vulcan. I am here to answer charges laid against me by officers formerly under my command. These charges include professional slander against a commanding officer, unlawful detainment and imprisonment, kidnapping, and sexual assault. I would like to address these charges and submit a plea of guilty to each one."

The courtroom erupted. Amidst all the ensuing pandemonium, Sheffield noticed that Spock's accusers remained noticeably reserved. While order was being restored in the court, Spock unobstrusivly turned to look at his two former crewmates. Catching their eye, he subtly bowed his head in acknowledgement. He saw the sad gratitude in their eyes. Today, they would all come clean.

On the Aberdeen, Scotty and Chekov stared in mutual shock for one minute. Whirling around, Scotty crowed, "Didya na' here what he said, Jim," before catching sight of his young friend. Jim lay on his back the rec room table, forearms crossed over his eyes, listening to proceedings but unable to watch. Regretting his overexuberance, Scotty turned back to the screen.

With order re-established, Judge Sheffield moved to take control of the proceedings. "Mr. Spock," he began, "You are aware that your home planet has filed a brief exonerating you from responsibility because of the biological symptoms you exhibited during something called _pon farr_?"

"I am aware of the brief and I reject its implications. I was fully cognizant when I committed these acts."

"You are also aware that as a former member of Starfleet, you do not technically fall under this body's jurisdiction"

"I am aware of this clause. I voluntarily submit myself to the jurisdiction of the Judge Advocate General."

"Very well. Finally, you are eligible for diplomatic immunity from these proceedings. Do you wish to exercise that right."

"I do not wish to hide behind immunity"

"Alright, Captain Spock, you are formally re-comissioned to your former rank and placed under the jurisdiction of this court. You have entered a plea of guilty. You will be required to allocute to your crimes now."

Spock took a steadying breath and glanced quickly at McCoy and Uhura. Both met his eyes and responded with supportive nods. Reassured, Spock took another breath and made his confession.

"As is Vulcan custom, I was formally bonded in a type of pre-engagement to a girl of my family's choosing at the age of 7. The intention of our families was for us to join in marriage during the aforementioned _pon farr_, the Vulcan time of mating,"Spock could here scurrilous whispers circulating in the courtroom but he easily tuned them out. He was here for one specific task.

He continued, "My bond mate was killed during the destruction of Vulcan, as were the bond mates of many of my people. However, during this time, I had entered into a monogamous sexual relationship with a Starfleet cadet named Nyota Uhura. We were both eventually assigned to the USS Enterprise under the command of James Kirk and we continued our relationship for the next four years.

During the last year and a half of our mission, Lt. Uhura and I began trying to formalize a bond between ourselves. Unfortunately, we discovered that as bonded couple we were biologically incompatible. This incompatability caused Lt. Uhura to undergo three miscarriages in that span of time. At this point, I was forced to begin to entertain other options. _Pon farr_ is a dangerous time for an unbonded male Vulcan. We must mate or we will eventually die. In light of this, I began to research the other crew members aboard my ship. My search led me to the discovery that I had a very high degree of biological compatibility with my captain, James T. Kirk

Upon hearing this, Scotty shook his head. He was shocked by the candor of Spock's speech. Jim continued to lie on the table, shutting out everything but the sound of Spock's voice.

"As a Vulcan, I am expected to live in a manner that reflects logical decision making. Logic would have dictated that I acknowledge my incompatability with Lt. Uhura and end our relationship in order to pursue a bond that would save my life. However, I did not submit to logic at this point but instead gave into my emotions. I believed myself to be in love with Lt. Uhura and was willing to go to great lengths to maintain our relationship. I allowed myself to openly indulge in my own personal desires. This is a dangerous act for a Vulcan. Prior to our conformation to the tenants of Surak, we were a people who were very inclined to selfish gratification, even at the expense of others. I allowed myself to begin to entertain this mindset, which placed me in a vulnerable state.

At this point, I engaged in a very dangerous act. It is common for Vulcans to seek solace in the collective katras, or souls, of their ancestors, to seek out their wisdom, especially during times of great struggle or change. This act is performed during meditation and requires careful diligence in order to keep the disembodied katras disengaged. Unfortunately, in my vulnerable state, I was left unshielded from the influence of my ancestors. I failed to properly employ my mental shields and I absorbed the katra of one of my pre-reform ancestors."

Spock took a moment to pause. McCoy and Unhura wore twin expressions of shock. He knew his explanation must be hard to believe, let alone absorb, but it was the truth, none the less. He continued.

"I do not wish to convey the notion that the presence of this katra within me exonerates me from responsibility. Quite the opposite. I knew the risks and engaged in the behavior anyway. I ignored all my training and left myself vulnerable. Once infected, I feasted on the sense of freedom and entitlement it gave me, the freedom to do or take whatever I wanted.

With my _pon farr_ approaching, I deliberately created a situation by which James Kirk would be unable to refuse me. I contacted Starfleet and misled them into granting me permission to pursue him as a mate. I used Lt. Uhura to convince Dr. McCoy to complicity in our plan by making it appear as if the bond I meant to inflict on Captain Kirk was temporary and would leave no lasting damage. I was completely aware that the bond was a permanent condition that could only be undone by death but I planned to deliberately withhold that information from everybody, especially Captain Kirk.

Finally, my body fully entered _pon farr._ This is a difficult time for any Vulcan but I had allowed my katra to become infected, which only heightened my barbaric nature. In this condition, I approached James Kirk and proposed the bonding. He understandably panicked and refused. Lt. Uhura, Dr. McCoy and I then put into action our plan to declare the captain emotionally compromised, effectively putting command of the Enterprise into my hands. As I devolved further into the savagery of the _pon farr_, I used this power to effectively hunt James Kirk down. After seven days, I managed to subdue him. I inflicted severe physical injuries on him that required extensive hospitalization. I then raped him repeatedly over a period of two days. During this time, I also forced a deep mind meld on him, which created a permanent mental bond."

At this point Spock paused, needed a moment to collect himself. Silence one again reigned in the courtroom with all attendees hanging on the edge of their seats to catch every word. On the Aberdeen, Scotty and Chekov stared at the view screen. This was the first they'd heard of the extent of Spock's assault on their friend. Jim was sitting up on the table now, his back towards the view screen and his knees drawn up into his chest. He looked young and helpless.

Spock felt his emotions welling up within him. He closed his eyes and employed some calming techniques. As he opened them, his eyes met McCoy's and Uhura's, still looking at him from across the room. Once again, they nodded their heads. Pulling on their support, he continued.

"James Kirk was returned to the ship after his recovery as my official mate under Vulcan law. I employed numerous mental and physical abuses against him during this time in an attempt to force his compliance to our mating. I also took advantage of my position as captain and used it put down an efforts by the crew to come to Kirk's aid. During this time, I continued to allow myself to exercise total self-gratification. As a result, I failed to recognize the presence of my ancestral katra.

The five year mission of the USS Enterprise was drawing to close. I recognized that I had to leave the ship before we reached space dock and I lost control of the environment. I made arrangements with a Vulcan ship, incapacitated James Kirk and removed us both from the Enterprise after resigning my commission.

I took James with me to Vulcan II, where we remained for the next year. While there, I began to rebuild my Vulcan disciplinary controls and identified that there was something wrong with my katra. This process led me to mind-meld with James again, wherein I determined that his mind had been badly damaged by our union. With the aid of my controls, I managed to contact several former Starfleet officers who took James and removed him from the planet. I then submitted myself to the Vulcan High Council for punishment. While incarcerated, I was aided by Spock, my counterpart from a timeline disrupted by the Romulan Nero. He helped me to perform the necessary rituals to remove the invading katra from my mind. Now, wholly myself again, I submit to your judgement."

At that, Spock fell silent. The courtroom remained as quiet as the dead. Judge Sheffield blinked several times before he found the words.

"Captain Spock, you admit guilt and accept full responsibility for your actions?"

"I do"

"Well, in that case, sir, I have no choice but to hand down your sentence."

"The sentence has already been enforced, sir."

"I beg your pardon, Captain!"

"Your honor, it is appropriate that you place me in incarceration for the next several years. I accept that punishment. But my sentence has already been determined. I am a bonded Vulcan who has no access to his bond mate. In five years, maybe less, I will experience my next _pon farr_. Without my bond mate, I will be unable to resolve it. Therefore, my sentence will be death."

The judges jaw dropped. Behind Spock, the court erupted into chatter.

Scotty swung around to Jim but he had already jumped to the floor. Second later, Scotty heard the door to his cabin swing shut.

Scotty didn't see Jim for the next three days.


	8. Chapter 7

Ch. 7

Jim paced.

Hour after hour, night after night, he haunted the deck of the Aberdeen.

He would start at the control console at the bow. From there he would navigate through the command quarter and down through the halls. He would skirt the periphery of the rec room and then the mess hall before wandering down the crew quarter deck. Finally, he would traverse the engine room and cargo holds before coming to rest his head against the stern side bulkhead. There he would wait for several moments before inevitably turning around and reversing his steps.

The crew was aware of the ghost that was haunting their ship at night but they didn't know what to make of it. At first, Scotty had nearly panicked, sure that Jim was destined to slide back down into the emotional black hole that had engulfed him when he first fled New Vulcan. But Jim had come too far for that. In an effort to check on his young friend, Scotty had spent a whole night camped out at the rec room computer, pretending to research warp capabilities and surreptitiously examining Jim each time he wandered back through the room. During the second lap, Scotty noticed that Jim's expression was one of intense concentration. By lap five, he distinctly heard Jim talking to himself. And by lap seven, it suddenly dawned on him just why Jim couldn't seem to stop walking. He was wrestling with his most deeply held philosophy, finding a winnable solution to a no-win situation.

Taking matters into his own hands, Scotty waited until Jim's next pass and then casually stuck his foot out. Deep in his own thoughts, Jim suddenly found himself face down on the deck. Rolling over, he found a mildly amused Scotsman starring down at him.

"You've been tryin to figure it out fer days by yerself, laddie. Hows about acceptin some friendly counsel? You were always good at knowin when ta ask fer help." Scotty noticed Jim's slight wince and inwardly kicked himself a bit. Jim's two foremost counselors lay at the heart of this mess.

Jim hauled himself to his feet, only to throw himself into the rec room couch, a slightly defeated expression on his face. He reached into his shirt and pulled something over his head. Holding out his hand, he let a gold chain with two terran style rings dangle from his fingers. Looking up at Scotty, he asked, "How'd I end up with this?"

Scotty looked bemused, "Dunno. What is it?"

Jim stared at the twisting circles as they caught the light,"It's my parents' wedding bands. When my mom started having contractions that day on the Kelvin, it was right about the time the whole shit storm with Nero began. My dad had to report to the bridge so he gave her his ring to hold on to, said it was as firm and resolute as his love for her. When she remarried, she gave me the two rings so I would remember where I came from," he looked up, "That day, when Spock knocked me out, I didn't have it on but I suddenly had it when I woke up. So, where did it come from?"

Scotty thought back to that day. Of course! Spock sliding something over Jim's lolling head, tucking it in his shirt. _Lovely, does he have a coat?_ "Spock! Spock put it on you when Pav and I were carrying you out of the house."

Jim nodded slowly. He had already known the answer but the affirmation only further complicated his heavily burdened mind. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn't seem to find the words. Motivated by pure frustration, he jumped to his feet and began pacing the length of the rec room.

Scotty sighed, "Talk ta me, laddie. Tell me what on yer mind."

"Alright, you want to hear my bitchfest? Here it goes. I was a damn starship captain, the youngest one ever. I had to make difficult decisions on a daily basis. It was difficult, sometimes it flat out SUCKED, but I learned to be decisive and live with the consequences. I accepted it as part of being a leader, as part of being a man and not just a dumb punk kid. But I am faced with a whole bunch of shit right now that is preventing me from making a decision and living with it."

Jim glanced at his captain, who nodded in understanding, "See it goes like this. Once upon a time, I had this friend. He was brilliant, controlled, logical, punctual….hell, everything that I wasn't. He wasn't taken in my so-called charm, called me on my bullshit, and literally kicked my ass when I needed it. He challenged me and pushed me and made me into a better person. He affected me more than anyone I've ever know. I loved this guy. I really, really loved him. I would have died for him and I know he would have done the same for me. I KNOW how cheesy it sounds but he was like my other half.

So then, this guy who I trust completely, who has completely _earned_ my trust by standing by me and saving me from myself and supporting me and believing in me, this guy suddenly turns around and totally betrays my trust, as deeply and completely as it can be betrayed. And then, he does another 180 degree turn and chooses his own death in order to set me free. Now, what do you do with this person? How do you weigh that level of loyalty and love against that level of betrayal and pain? How do you ever let go of either side and choose a path?"

Jim stopped and slid down against the wall, letting his head fall back against the bulkhead with a thud. "Am I supposed to just let him die, Scotty?"

"Is that what ya want¸ him ta die?"

"That's just it! I feel like I'm supposed to, I feel like I'm expected to. Dammit, I feel like people will look at me with pity, or disgust if I don't."

"But"

""

"Jim"

"No"

"No?"

Jim's head came forward. His eyes locked on Scotty's, "No, I don't want him to die."

Scotty sighed,"What do ya want?"

Jim starred hard into the deck, "I want to kick his ass. I want to beat him so bad that he can't get out of bed for weeks. And then, when he's totally incapacitated, I want to take care of him. I want to nurse him back to health. And then I want to live happily ever after."

The two men sat in heavy silence for several minutes.

"Jim"

"Yeah"

"I dunno think that's possible"

Jim snorted, "Yeah. And that's really the problem, isn't it. The wondering and worrying is over. We aren't running anymore and you aren't trying to "fix" me. He's in prison waiting for his own death. He'd probably tell me that the only logical course of action would be to move on. But I don't know how to decide to let him go." Feeling the weight of the world of his shoulder, Jim stood up, "You know what," he said in mock satisfaction, "I think I'll sleep on it."

"That's a good idea"

"Yeah, a really great idea"

* * *

Sleep was the last think on Jim Kirk's mind. His restless thoughts had given him a pronounced case of insomnia and the exhaustion was playing havoc with his mental functions. However, despite his depleted energy, he could not seem to make himself lie down and rest. As he stretched out on his bunk, his telltale jumpiness informed him that tonight would be no different.

So he was shocked, hours later, to feel himself emerging out of a deep sleep. Curled on his side, eyes still closed, he luxuriated in the feeling of restedness, noting that for the first time in weeks, he felt truly calm and relaxed. Suddenly, he started. Not calm….._complete_. The subtle but omnipresent sensation of emptiness, the feeling of a limb missing, the uncomfortable reminder of a neglected but ever-present bond that he had relegated to a place in the back of his mind and tried to ignore. Suddenly, the emptiness was _gone_! But that was impossible, unless……

Slowly, carefully, Jim opened his eyes. Before him, a massive bay window looked out onto a deep valley, illuminated intermittently with streetlights. The night sky was crystal clear and awash with stars and a gentle breeze blew up through the valley, rustling the bed sheets and the ends of his hair. Caught between sheer terror and exhilaration, he immediately recognized his location. Concentrating on his surroundings, he clearly detected an intense warmth emanating from a source behind him. Taking a deep breath, he rolled onto his other side. The motion felt strange, as if his bones were too small inside his body. But all such thoughts were forgotten as he made visual contact with the source of the heat.

Jim took a quick moment to observe their surroundings. The bedroom looked exactly as it had when he saw it last, all dramatic drapery and ancient weapons hung in their proper places. The bed was large, too large he had thought some nights, not large enough on others. Tonight it seemed as big as a battlefield, with a line drawn right down the middle and just across the way lay the imposing form of his enemy best friend, turned towards him and starring with appraising and vaguely hungry eyes.

Struck momentarily speechless, Jim took a moment to peruse his bond mate. He looked no different from any other night Jim had spent lying next to him in their bed on New Vulcan. The crimson sheet barely covered his hips, and the smooth, olive tinged planes of his torso and arms appeared almost white in the weak light from the window. Jim immediately became aware of their mutual state of undress. Not that it should be surprising. He and Spock had generally slept in the buff during their time together. This unspoken arrangement, which had always left him feeling vulnerable and at risk, now felt rather empowering. He could sense the desire volleying between them.

Snapping to attention, Jim sought answers. _How did he get here? Was this real? Had he ever actually left Spock?_ Realizing that he had only one source of information, Jim locked stares with the Vulcan who continued to eye him from across the bed.

"_Was it a dream?"_

_No, the state you are in now would be called a dream……though perhaps the cause is sufficient for you to call it a nightmare."_

"_I'm on the Aberdeen?"_

"_Physically. Mentally, you are in a place of your own choosing."_

"_I chose this place!?"_

Jim paused for a moment to collect his whirling thoughts. He was dreaming, none of this was real. Then how was he able to feel……

"_You feel the bond in it completion."_

"_Yeah, but that can't be right. If you're just a dream"_

"_I didn't say I was a dream. I said that you were dreaming"_

"_Wait, are you telling me you're real? How is that possible. We're nowhere near each other. You and the old guy have both jumped in my head before but you had to actually be touching me."_ Jim was becoming nervous and the sensation gave way to anger_, "Fuck, do you ever stop. What they hell are you doing to me now? You're invading my dreams?"_

Spock paused, the look in his eyes plaintive.

"_T'hy'la, you must be calm"_

"_Fuck you, and don't call me that! You don't get to call me that!"_

"_Jim, then. You are right. A Vulcan must touch another in order to establish a link between minds. What I am doing now is an intense form of mental discipline. It is very difficult to maintain. You must not attempt to move. The illusion that I am maintaining will not sustain too much kinetic energy. If you can remain still I will answer your questions, both the how and the why."_

Jim gritted his teeth. Stay still. One way or another, Spock was always holding him down. _Okay, must control myself. This is not the time to be lashing out in anger. Gather info…._

"_Okay, fine, you win. I'm still. Now, tell me how."_

"_The answer is actually quite simple. I am employing the joint telepathic faculties of my ancestral collective."_

"_You are doing WHAT!!!!!!!!"_

"_Jim"_

"_Don't you even…….what the FUCK are you thinking? Jesus Christ, get the FUCK out of me. Or did you forget that I've already had you and one of your ancestors in my head?"_

"_Jim, they are not in your head."_

Jim tried to jump up, to turn away, but his body still felt heavy and alien. _That's cause it's not really me. Just an illusion._ Breathing deeply, he forced himself to calm down. He wanted, needed answers.

"_Explain, yourself, dammit"_

"_As a result of my previous actions, I have roughly five years left to live. Five years to make peace with myself and the people I have hurt and wronged. Since the first person I failed was myself, I have initiated contact with my older counterpart. He has been working with me in several disciplines, helping me to confront my emotions and actions. The first step he had me undertake was to build up and re-master my disciplines so that I had something within myself that I could respect. _

_Next, I had to seek out the people I hurt. Since you were by far the most egregiously injured, it made sense to first come to you. I cannot actually seek you out and it would be foolish to ask you to come to me, so my counterpart suggested this method. It is in effect, what you humans would call 'killing two birds with one stone', I believe. I am exercising careful mental controls and giving you an opportunity to confront me in a place you find," _Spock paused and glanced around the room, his tone becoming ironic, "_non-threatening?" _

"_Are you saying I chose this place because it makes me feel safe?"_

"_It is interesting to consider. It SHOULD have made you feel safe. To be naked in one's marital bed with one's bond mate should be the most intimate and uninhibited of environments. This was, of course, not the case for us. However, it is important that you know that you are safe. My disciplines are in control and my counterpart is overseeing this interaction."_

"_You mean he's listening!"_

"_He is observing from a distance. We have privacy."_

Jim considered this, _"So now what."_

"_Now we speak of things that need saying."_

Jim reeled inwardly. How could Spock sound so calm. He was a mess of tensing emotions, not knowing whether he wanted to hit the man across from him or lean in and kiss him soundly. Mostly, he wanted to jar him out of his composed, collected state. Considering, Jim chose a question designed to cut like a knife thrust.

"_Why?"_

Spock looked confused_, "I have told you. It is important we speak."_

"_Yeah, I know Spock. WHY?"_

"_Ah, why, I see. You are aware of what transpired at my Starfleet hearing, are you not."_

"_Yeah, I heard it."_

"_I believe your question has several levels, all of which deserve their own answers. Why did I place myself in a situation I knew to be dangerous? Why did I let myself become vulnerable to another's katra? Stubborness, a trait that tends to define me, I think. I simply refused to accept that I could not have what I thought I wanted. Perhaps I was a bit inspired by you. I had become accustomed to a world where everything had a solution."_

"_Oh, so now it's my fault."_

"_It is not your fault. You and I have different gifts. It is why we complement each other. Impossible situations was your talent, not mine, and I did not do a good job with it. I lost myself in the process._

_But that is not your only question. You also wish to know why it was you that I pursued. That answer is a bit more complicated. I told Miss Uhura, the good doctor, and the court that you and I were biologically compatible, that you would be able to accept the mating bond. That was all they needed to know. To you, I owe much more honesty. _

_During my initial……assault , you and I were locked into a primal struggle of attack and survival. Despite this, when I initiated the meld on you, there was a fractious moment when I returned to myself completely. I felt calm, completed and fulfilled. My rage and lust were momentarily quelled. I believe that you felt it, too."_

Jim considered. Mostly what he remembered was terror, humiliation and pain everywhere. But there had been that second when Spock had hovered over him, starring into his eyes, pressing into his face, mumbling those words_ parted from me and never parted_ when even his shattered bones had ceased to exist. He HAD felt it.

"_So what does that mean."_

"_Our bond solidified instantaneously. You wouldn't be aware of the significance of that but I have been bonded before and I assure you it was nothing like that experience. I couldn't imagine my last bond having the slightest effect on the madness I was experiencing during pon farr."_

For the first time since his speech began, Spock broke eye contact. Starring out the windows behind Jim, he sighed and continued.

"_My stubborn tendencies betrayed us twice. I believe this could all have been avoided if I had just been willing to listen, to accept my nature, but I had been fighting it for so long. He tried to tell me, my counterpart, that our relationship would define us both completely. I failed to realize the significance. And for a person of my race not to have acknowledged the insurmountable odds of you and I traversing completely different walks of life and still finding each other a second time? There is only one possible explanation." _Spock looked back at Jim,_ "I know you do not wish to hear it, but you are my T'hy'la, in the deepest sense of the word. On Earth, we would be called soulmates."_

Jim opened his mouth to speak but Spock hushed him with a slight shake of his head and continued, "_So you see, I had to come to you because you were already mine, as I was yours. I was drawn to you but my own deplorable actions and indulgences corrupted it, made it an act of abomination, instead of an act of………love." _He starred at Jim intently for a moment, observing the human's reaction. _"You may despise this but I believe you know it to be true. You are the one who brought us here to this place, Jim. The bond between us in now uncorrupted and I sense that you can feel the difference. This is what we should have had, should have been, together. Now do you understand?"_

Jim stayed quiet for whole minutes, extremes of emotion running through his mind and heart. He wanted to shout denial but recognized the foolish waste of dishonesty here, in this place. _Soulmates. _It would definitely explain some things. Like how he could feel such intense rage for a person and still love him with complete abandon. Still want him. _"Relent" _he told himself, _"Stop tearing yourself apart with this fight. Stop worrying about what others will think. There's no shame but what you bring on yourself" _

Finally composing himself, he said, "_I don't despise it. This is what I've been struggling with for months. I hate how much I DON"T hate you. At least now I understand why." _He pierced Spock with his gaze, "_I surrender_. _I cannot hate you. It just isn't in my nature. Despite everything, I can't do anything but love you. And I'm tired of fighting it and letting pre-conceived notions of pride, self-respect and survivor's guilt or whatever influence my behavior. Since the moment this began, all I really wanted to do was submit to it. Especially now that I know exactly what I'm submitting too. _Jim sighed_, "I once told Scotty that I felt cherished here. Maybe that's why I brought us back. I don't want to leave you!"_

Spock's lips played up at the corner, the barest hint of a smile. "_You WERE cherished here T'hy'la. I am gratified that you felt that. But you cannot stay with me."_

Jim sensed panic well up within him, "_What do you mean?"_

"_Jim, I am going to die. I cannot and will not allow you to carry this bond with you for the next five years, further developing it, only to have it taken away. It would be cruel and I have already been cruel enough."_

"_What are you saying? I don't know much about Vulcan mind games but I know this thing is til death. You told me so several times." _

"_It is true that the bond can't be broken. It can, however, be effectively blocked. It is my intention to implement that. After it is done, we will no longer be able to sense each other. You will be free."_

Forgetting his promise to stay still, Jim swung out at his old friend, the action leaving him completely exhausted. Trembling with effort, Spock extended his arm and gently stroked Jim's hand with his first two fingers. Immediately feeling the calming permeations of his mate's mind, Jim said, _"I don't want to be free. You're mine, I'm yours, we'll see this through together. You don't have to die. I can come there when it's time." _He paused, "_Doesn't Starfleet allow for conjugal visits?" _

"_Most definitely not in this case. Jim, I want you to understand me. I committed a crime against my friend and anther against my culture and the payment will be high. What's more, it most certainly WILL be collected. I angered many important people when I chose to appear at that hearing. It was the right thing to do and I have no regrets but there are many people in power who will see me dead, both on Vulcan and in Starfleet. They will allow no "conjugal visits" I assure you. In fact, their anticipation of my prolonged and impending death during pon farr is probably the only reason that I am still alive. And you must promise me that you will stay far away from Earth and keep Mr. Scott and Mr. Chekov with you. My father and counterpart are already taking action to see to the safe removal of Miss Uhura and the good doctor from Earth. There is a good chance that some people will see you all as liabilities. I can accept my own death but I cannot accept yours." _

He paused_, "Jim, I want my death. I need it. It is also a payment that is due to me. I allowed myself to live in a fashion that was dishonorable. When I released you, I knew it meant my death but I did it anyway. Through that act of selflessness, it is possible for me to reclaim my honor, but only if I see it through to the end" _He sighed. "_I do not wish to leave you T'hy'la. But it will only be more difficult later. Yield to the logic of this. Let me go."_

His voice was growing more distant, developing a sense of echo. Jim again tried to reach for him, but still found it too difficult to move. _"SPOCK."_

"_I am growing tired. I must go now."_

"_I almost couldn't hear you."_

"_Can you hear me now?"_

"_Yes, your louder."_

"_I am gathering my strength"_

"_For what?"_

"_For this."_

Without warning, Spock suddenly surged up and over Jim, threading his left arm beneath Jim's shoulders and cradling his head with his right. Wasting none of the precious seconds that remained, Spock lowered his head and seized Jim's mouth in a powerful kiss, divesting him of his senses and breath and filling him with heat. Jim struggled ineffectually to move his arms but finally let his hand loll limply against Spock's hip, desperate to maintain as much contact as possible as Spock sensually devoured his lips. Finally, Spock pulled back and Jim's lungs pulled in huge sucking gasps of air as Spock leaned over and nuzzled his neck before whispering gently against his ear, _"Wani ra yana ro aisha, T'hy'la."_

In a flash, the pressure, the panic, the sense of calm, were all gone. Jim bolted up on his bunk in his cabin on the Aberdeen, noting that he was suddenly alone and fully dressed. Despite that, he could still feel the pressure of Spock's lips, still feel the lingering tickle of his voice in his ear. Jim reached out through the bond he could no longer feel "_A dream, you said it was a dream. Then why can I still taste you."_

This time there was no answer.


	9. Chapter 8

A/N: Okay, I am a brand new, un-betaed writer who is terrified that she is getting way too ambitious with her next chapter. The only remedy I can see: REVIEWS! I need 'em folks, like the desert needs the rain!

And I STILL don't own Star Trek

* * *

Chapter 8: 2 years later

"JIM, JJJIMMM!!!!!!!!!"

Sputtering awake, Jim Kirk sat up straight in the command chair of the Aberdeen, his feet falling from their recline on the console. Blinking stupidly, he shifted his eyes around the bow, trying to determine why he was no longer dozing off in Scotty's seat.

"JIIIMMMMMMM!!!! Didya hear me, laddie!!!!!"

Jumping three feet, Jim dashed forward and grabbed the barking communicator from its perch on the console.

"I'm here, Scotty. Please repeat."

"Fire er up, laddie, we need ta leave, RIGHT NOW! And lower the gangplank!"

A million possible reasons for Scotty's frantic instructions flashed across Jim's mind as he dove back into the command chair and began initiating the necessary launch sequences. Pausing just long enough to lower the rear gangplank, Jim grabbed two phasers and ran towards the Aberdeen's stern. He knew this neighborhood and he knew this crew and he wouldn't put it past them to have some sort of lynch mob hot on their tail. It wouldn't be the first time.

The peaceful darkness that greeted him as he starred across the tarmac was deceiving. Pu'jowl was a hellhole, a port of the worst order. In fact, the entire planet of Savar could give Dante nightmares. It was completely controlled, if control was the right word, by power-hungry warlords and their bumbling factions of sadistic thugs. Its entire economy, for lack of a better word, was built around the drug and sex trades. Jim hated it and he knew Scotty did, too, but it seemed like they had spent a great deal of their time in the past two years in and out of ports such as this. Scotty had taken Spock's warning seriously, a great deal more seriously than Jim. They were staying far away from Earth.

But as far as Jim could tell, they had traded one dangerous entity for another. The rough and ungoverned world they now inhabited enraged the sensibilities of the three former Starfleet officers. They were confronted regularly by the types of situations they had once fought to prevent but now they found themselves nearly powerless in the face of such atrocities. Jim remembered distinctly the last time they had attempted to intervene. They had saved a young man from death at the hands of one of the local crime syndicates' collectors. For that fine act of chivalry, Scotty had spent six months in jail. At first Jim had planned complex escapes and had even considered attempting to contact the elder Spock for help but Scotty had reminded him that they needed to keep their heads down and save their favors for when they really needed them. Six months wasn't that long, he claimed, but it has seemed like an eternity to the crew who had clung to that shithole planet's general vicinity for the duration of the sentence. Jim had stepped in as acting captain, to Chekov's profound relief, and the ship had stayed afloat financially but the nature of their environment was causing the Aberdeen to take on more and more questionable cargo. It drove them nuts. "What good was this whole staying alive and safe thing," Jim argued, "If we lose who we are in the process." Scotty wasn't ready to give in and head back to Earth quite yet but he was definitely getting close.

"And who knows," Jim mused as he stood at the top of the ship ramp, phasers armed and ready, "This just might be the last straw." Out of the silent night, he could hear the sounds of yelling, punctuated by the cursing of one irate Scotsman. Out of the darkness emerged the crew of the Aberdeen, running hell bent across the tarmac with Scotty bringing up the rear. Jim was relieved to see no immediate pursuers and hoped this meant they might be able to make a clean break without engaging in a fire fight. Thank God they'd already unloaded.

As the crew rushed aboard, Chekov shot past Jim towards the command console. Jim hurried behind him. Scotty was already shouting orders as he cleared the gangplank, "Retract the damn ramp and let's go." Not needing to be told twice, Jim initiated thrusters and the Aberdeen cleared the dock, shooting off into space. Only when they'd cleared the atmosphere did Scotty allow himself to slide down into the command chair.

"Och, I dunna need this shit at my age."

Jim's lips quirked, "So, who accidentally slept with who's daughter?"

"It should be that simple. No, laddie, a rather large individual by the name of Barr Jullin and his army of punks have decided ta take over the great city of Pu'jowl. Canna say that I blame them. It's quite a catch, as far as hell infested shit heaps go. Apparently, the local ruler, whose name I canna even pronounce, wasna too keen on this idea. We decided not ta stay and see who won."

"Oh. Well, at least we won't have to go back there anytime soon."

"Yes, another port where we can no longer do business. Excellent", Scotty slumped into his chair and rubbed his forehead, "Gentlemen, we are running low on options."

At the command console, Chekov and Jim exchanged a look. Jim sighed, "Hey, you know how I feel. This whole area is like the Wild West. I still say we head back closer to home."

" I zink we should consider it, too, Keptin"

Scotty shot them both a dirty look, "Yes, please, let's trade in our blood thirsty anarchists for a bunch of blood thirsty beauracrats. Jim, wake up. Can ya not see how dangerous that is?"

"Dammit, Scotty, we just aren't that important. Do you think they're going to hunt down a couple of former officers till the end of time. I mean, do you really think they even care anymore?"

Scotty eyed Jim with a sad but resigned expression, "Look, let me lay it ta ya straight. I dunno think the Federation will hunt us till the end a days. Truth be said, I think they'll give up rather quickly. But, Jim, something, has to happen first..........Jim, they'll give up once he's dead."

His reaction would have been indiscernable to someone who didn't know him well but Scotty had been Jim's friend for seven years and he could see the way the young man's face tightened painfully at those words. Dead. Spock. These past two years viewed as part of a countdown towards the inevitable that would be triggered by the Vulcan's traitorous biology. Jim's shoulders slumped marginally and his hands gripped the controls tighter as he fought for control. Twenty-four months and he still could not accept this eventuality.

"Look, son, I dunna want to upset you. But ya know it ta be true."

"Yeah", Jim stood, "Are we good up here."

"Yeah, she'll fly herself now."

"Good." Without another word, Jim strowed off toward his cabin. Scotty and Chekov watched him go, once again at a loss for words of comfort. There just wasn't that much optimism in this part of the galaxy.

* * *

Jim missed swinging doors. One of the great disappointments of living in space was the lack of doors to slam for dramatic effect. Here, everything slid. _And as a result, Jim Kirk, you are forced to unwittingly appear to be a grown up instead of a fourteen year old in a snit_. God, sometimes he just hated his inner voice.

Jim needed to re-direct his rage. He knew his anger wasn't really for Scotty. All the poor guy was doing was telling the truth. But he was Jim Kirk and his approach to life would always be to dive right into the fray and hope for the best. He felt positively impotent stuck way out on the very edge of Federation space. He'd much rather face the risks and meet whatever the Federation or Vulcan Council threw at them head on. It would be brash and brave but also foolish and reckless and deep down Jim respected Scotty's position. He knew that Spock was right, knew the powers that be in Starfleet and on New Vulcan would not leave them peacefully alone and he knew that Scotty's decision was the best one for his crew. But he didn't have to like it.

In a brief moment of whimsy, Jim pushed out with his mind. Up, down, left, right……..still nothing. The bond was there, he was mentally aware of its presence if he concentrated on it solely. But he couldn't _feel_ it at all. The block that Spock had instigated worked as well as he had said it would. He had claimed that he wanted to turn Jim loose. Well, he'd certainly provided the foundation. The sense of emptiness, of incompletion that had plagued Jim in the months immediately following his departure from New Vulcan was gone. He was alone and yet felt wholly himself again. Spock was right. If he wanted, he could be free.

The problem was, he didn't want it, this notion of freedom, because when it came right down to it, it was illusory at best. To be completely free, one had to be completely unattached, an island unto himself. There was a time when a younger James Kirk might have thought that sounded like paradise. He knew better now. For a span of only five minutes he had experienced a near perfect love affair between two uniquely compatible individuals and he couldn't turn his back on that. Spock had blocked their mating bond but he could nothing to stop the reciprocal call of their souls to one another. _I thought you said the block would make it easy._ No, that wasn't true. Spock could not take away what already lay between them. He had blocked him only so as not to make it any worse.

For a moment, Jim almost chuckled, briefly reflecting on the impressive amount of time he had dedicated over the last four years to analyzing the potential health and stability of his marriage. Karma certainly was a vindictive bitch. He had thoroughly earned and even more thoroughly enjoyed his immoral reputation as a Starfleet cadet. His behavior had tempered considerably when he was promoted, as was required of a man in his position, but he had still managed to enjoy himself with a short but exotic string of one night stands on various stopovers and shore leaves. And just look at him now, desperate to find the means to live out a committed, monogamous and _blessedly uneventful_ relationship with the love of his life. And that was the one relationship that had been screwed up from the very start.

Bond or no bond, he missed Spock like hell. And his heart wasn't the only thing that was hurting. This much celibacy was probably a bad idea for a man of his previous sexual appetites but he couldn't seem to help himself. When he had first fled New Vulcan, the presence of the bond had made the idea of sex with someone else absolutely repugnant. Now, he just wasn't tempted to indulge in what he knew would be an inferior experience. He tried not to dwell too much on the events aboard the Enterprise. Spock had explained the circumstances and then offered up his own life in restitution. As far as Jim was concerned, the incident had finally been laid to rest when they had found their way back to their bed on New Vulcan. In fact, it was the occurrences in that bed that dominated his mind now.

At the time of their arrival on the planet, Spock had seemed determined to fuck him on a nightly basis. His intense possessiveness and Jim's dejected misery had made for thoroughly one sided interludes. For the longest time, he had just lain there, simply unable to participate or resist. But as time passed and Spock returned more and more to himself, his attentions began to mutate. He was no longer willing to mindlessly screw a compliant body beneath him and had employed his full knowledge of the human mind and physiology to the task. Jim's stubbornness had been no match against that kind of technique and stamina and the Vulcan had wrung orgasms from his body that had reduced him to a gasping, boneless mass of quivering nerves. Eventually, Jim's physical surrender had been complete.

He vividly remembered his last time; the explosion of stars behind his eyes and the animalistic moan that had escaped his lips as he had lain on his side, inclined on the crimson sheets of their bed, Spock's hot body pressed against his back, pushed deep within him, one arm across his shoulders, the other hand still stroking him through his climax, leg wrapped around Jim's to provide leverage as he thrust in, in. He'd still felt a reluctance to those sexual interludes that had been born of the circumstances but he could also clearly remember how his own arm had snaked out, reaching up over his shoulder to grasp Spock around the back of his neck, clutching, pulling and urging him on.

But Spock's gradual return to his logical and rational self had brought other changes as well, most notably an active conscience. Spock had acknowledged his mental reticence and never touched Jim again after that night. A part of him had been grateful. An even bigger part of him was still yearning, desperate to experience it as a fully willing participant. There was just no substitute to be had for it, not in all the universe.

What the _hell_ was going on with him? In the course of the past two years, his thoughts were never far from Spock but this obsession with their past sex life was new and unsettling. He had carefully avoided this for so long and now the thoughts came unbidden almost like they'd been placed in his……

Jim bolted up. No, it couldn't be. It was way too soon. But what other explanation was there. Spock had kept himself so carefully hidden for the last two years. The only possible reason for this sudden breach was if he had fallen into a state of mind that made it impossible to maintain those carefully constructed shield. _Oh, fuck this shit. I've had it with being the obedient, supportive little wife. What the fuck is going on. _Channeling his intense frustration, Jim once again pushed out with his mind. If he was seeing Spock's thoughts, there must be some chink in the armor that was allowing Spock's mind to push through. Still he felt nothing. Mentally spitting on his hands and fully embracing his _never say die_ attitude, Jim pushed again, even further. Still nothing. Turning in frustration, he punched the bulkhead hard, his hand exploding in pain. Using the physical agony to his advantage, he harnessed the excess aggression to push out yet again. There, finally, he felt the actual wall. Running mental hands along its breadth, he finally located the small breach. He reached out towards it and was blown back by a scorching pain. A heat too intense to be born flung him back into his cabin on the Aberdeen.

_Holy SHIT!!_ So that was what it felt like. It was suddenly easier to understand Spock's descent into animalistic insanity. A person might do anything to quench that fire. But how had this happened? Everything Jim had ever heard indicated that it was a seven year cycle. Really, though, that was hardly the point right now. Spock was about to enter _pon farr_, he knew it, and that meant that his bond mate, his _soulmate_ probably had about two weeks to live.

_Dammin, dammit, dammit, DAMMIT!!!!_ He didn't know what to do. Spock had asked him to let him go, had asked to be allowed to reclaim his sense of honor with the sacrifice of his life. Could Jim really deny him that?

Oh hell, of course he could! This whole death as a pathway to life bullshit had just never sat well with him. He wouldn't, he couldn't just sit passively by while the love of his life quit out on them. _Fuck it, if he wants to reclaim his honor, he sure as hell isn't going to take the easy way out. We'll get through this together and then he'll live and he can sacrifice his life by vowing to spend the rest of it kissing my ass and making it up to me. Isn't that how married couples are supposed to make up?_

Secure in his own warped brand of logic, Jim sprang into action. Striding out the door of his cabin, he yelled, "Pav, Scotty, where are you? We need to talk."

* * *

Thirty-seven hours later, the Aberdeen pulled out of warp. Scotty had tested the ship's engines to their limits and they were now deep in Federation Space. Certainly close enough to send a message. Jim slid into the command chair while Chekov established the necessary link.

The face that appeared on the screen was perhaps a little older than when Jim had last seen it but the calm, stoic expression that the Vulcan wore hadn't changed a bit. He found himself at a sudden loss for words as he starred at the featueres that so resembled the man he loved and was determined to save.

"It is gratifying to see you, Jim, Mr. Scott. Mr. Chekov, you do not know me but I assuredly know you," the Vulcan's lips turned up in the slightest hint of a smile at Pavel's confusion.

Collecting himself, Jim found his voice, "Spock! It's good to see you, too. Listen, I'd love to play catch up but there's no time. I need to know what's going on with him."

Spock's counterpart appeared to take a moment to gather his thoughts and choose his words, "Jim, since you are initiating this contact, then I must assume that you are aware of what has occurred. It is difficult to say with measured exactitude but I estimate he has twelve days to live."

"How, Spock? How did this happen? It's supposed to take seven years."

"This is true, and the cycle is usually quite precise. However, there are several things to take into account. First, he, and I for that matter, are hybrids. The human portion of our DNA can affect the onset. It did this to me several times throughout my life, usually during times of great upheaval. Remember, the _pon farr_ is a hormonal reaction and both Vulcan and human hormones can be affected by stress levels. And he has experienced stress. Maintaining the block he placed on your bond only exacerbated the situation. His ability to meditate has been compromised for many months. In light of these outside influences, it is understandable that the situation manifested early. He and I had discussed this possibility and he had accepted it. As far as you becoming aware of the situation, that will only increase in the coming days. He will not be able to maintain the block on your bond for much longer as it requires a balanced and disciplined mind, which he is rapidly losing. I assume you have already felt or sensed some of these changes."

Jim thought back to the sexually charged memories that had been streaming through his head. _Where has your mind been going, Spock_. "Yeah, I've definitely noticed. So, you've seen him then?"

"Yes, Jim, I visit him at least once a week when I am on the planet. His father is there almost daily. He is receiving as much support as we can offer and we will see him through this time."

"So, he still wants to die?"

"Yes, he still views it as a matter of reclaiming his honor."

"And what if I told you I thought that was pure horseshit?"

"Equine excremental references aside, I believe I understand your colorful metaphor. And I believe I would be inclined to agree with it."

Jim sat back in his chair. He had run this conversation with the older Spock through his head several times as they traveled towards New Vulcan but the one thing he had never expected was agreement.

"So, if you agree that it's an asinine waist of life, maybe you'll also agree with the next part."

"I believe you intend to, how you say, _bust him out_?"

Jim slapped his leg, "Yes, exactly. We're planning a prison break from New Vulcan. So, good idea, bad idea, am I crazy? What do you think?"

Spock quirked his brow, "I have many thoughts. First, in light of your possible insanity, I would only comment that you are James Tiberius Kirk. You could never be anyone else. And because of who you are, I was fully expecting this course of action. I knew you would not simply let him die. However, you must realize two things. First, he believes he wants to die. He is committed to this course of action. After this is all over, it will fall to you to convince him that he has a path in this life. I personally have tremendous faith that you will be successful, having learned about faith myself from your counterpart. But all this must wait until after you have dealt with the more immediate issue.

Jim, by the time you arrive, he will most likely be entering the _plak tow._ This means he will be beyond the capacity for rational thought. His desire will be to mate and _you_ will be his target."

Jim starred down at his hands, carefully avoiding three sets of eyes currently trained on him, "I get that. We'll come up with something to handle it. For now, what can you tell us about this prison?"

"I've done some preliminary reconnaissance of the site during my visits. It is minimally staffed and largely computer operated. I strongly suggest that Mr. Chekov employ some of his unique computer skills to this problem. I can provide you with a map to his cell and a location of all the fixed guard posts. There are several guards who roam at will but I have taken the liberty of assessing their most likely routes." Sitting back, Spock looked moderately satisfied with himself.

The expression on the three human's faces was identical incredulity. "Um, have you ever broken out of prison before, Mr. Spock?" Scotty quipped good-naturedly.

"Indeed I have," the Vulcan replied with complete sincerity, "Seven-teen times, to be exact. I can also relate the exact figures for the incidences in which I have broken out of prison accompanied by the three of you." His eyes twinkled at their startled expressions, "This can be done, I assure you. In fact, I estimate probability of success to be about 93.7%. However, the odds will be deducted by a full 90% if you do not have a plan of contingency for dealing with my counterpart. He will be savage at that point. And if he becomes aware of your presence Jim, there will be nothing that can hold him. I know that you understand what I am saying."

Jim thought for a moment, "Okay, how about knocking him out?"

"The use of a nerve pinch could be affective but someone would have to get close enough to him to administer it. I could possibly…."

"No, Spock, I want you to have plausible deniability. You and Sarek. But I think I have an idea. There has to be some kind of ventilation system in this place, right. Something that is probably controlled by the computer?"

"Yes, I have noticed such a system."

"Alright, so if Pav gets into the computer system, we could pump some kind of sedative into his cell and knock him out. Then we just have to avoid the guards, get Pav to throw the lock and drag him back to the ship. Sounds easy enough to me."

"Yes, Jim, theoretically. But this is not a regular Vulcan. He is in _pon farr_. A standard sedative is not going to have any effect on him."

"Okay, so all we really need then is someone with a basic medical understanding of Vulcan biology who can mix up a highly specific chemical compound in almost no time with limited resources and then affectively administer it with absolutely no chance for a trial run……..right?"

Spock looked almost quizzical for a moment, "That is correct."

Jim smiled, "Well, it just so happens that I know a guy. And I think you know where I can find him."


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: I apologize about the long wait for an update. I was so nervous about writing this chapter that I finally just walked away for a while and wrote another story, where I take out all my frustration on poor Dr. McCoy. Now, I've sufficiently satisfied all my plot holes and present you all with ch. 9.**

**Paramount owns Star Trek**

* * *

Ch. 9

"So, you wanna talk about it?"

"Dammit, Jim, we're supposed to be quiet. You wanna get caught?"

"Please, the door is reinforced Nerillium. You know as well as I do that they're completely soundproof. And it's going to take Pav at least thirty minutes to get back into the system. We've got the time. And we have plenty to talk about, doctor."

James T. Kirk and Leonard "Bones" McCoy, former officers of the USS Enterprise, former confidants, former best friends, glared daggers at each other across the four foot expanse of the prison storage closet in which they were currently ensconced. The space was too small to contain the volume of emotions that were volleying back and forth between the two men but what could they do? Despite his most elusive efforts, Chekov could only stay inside the prison's security system for forty-five minutes at a time before he tipped off one of the sleeper probes that continuously scanned the computer program for hackers. So, while they waited for him to regain entry, they were stuck with each other and their own anger and guilt.

There was much to say and there had been no time to say it. Ever since Jim had realized that Spock was entering an early onset of his next _pon farr_ the command crew of the Aberdeen had been in a race against time. Spock's elder counterpart had sent them all the pertinent information he had collected regarding the prison system and Chekov, in another fit of brilliance had managed to hack the mainframe. With as much raw data as they could muster, the Aberdeen's crew shot off for the tiny colony of Lavanar XII and the free clinic it boasted in the city of Patel.

The service that the older Spock and Sarek had rendered to Bones and Uhura was paramount. Jim didn't like to think about what would have happened to them if they had remained in custody. He also avoided questions about the means of their release. He had a feeling it had cost the two Vulcans quite a bit and he just didn't need any more resentment piling up. Right now, what he needed was Bones and his freakish ability to perform medical magic in the face of impossible odds. He told himself that this was the only reason he was heading for Lavanar, that he didn't have a care in the world for Leonard McCoy aside from the help he could provide in breaking Spock out. But he was lying to himself and that reality came boiling right to the surface the second he found his way to his old friend's office.

He hadn't meant to hit him. Sure he was a hothead but even Jim Kirk knew that it was easier to catch flies with honey than with vinegar. And it was easier to get people to help you plan and pull off a prison break if you didn't split their lip open. But all the sensibility in the universe hadn't been able to stop him when he finally located Bones in the Lavanarian clinic. The good doctor had been facing away from him, sorting through a pile of files that obscured his desk. For a moment, Jim had been overcome at the sight of him and a swirling vortex of conflicting emotions had threatened to suck him down. Rage and betrayal for the friend who had deserted him in his hour of need. Compassion for the pain and guilt he had seen on McCoy's face when he returned to the ship from his stay in the hospital. Gratitude for Bones' decision to come forward and make a confession, at great personal loss, in an effort to rescue him from New Vulcan. The emotions swirled, out of control, and Jim was propelled forward, beyond conscious thought. Wordlessly, he stalked up to his former best friend and jerked him around by the shoulder. Without giving him a second to recover, Jim grabbed Bones is a rib-cracking bear hug, leaning over to whisper in his ear, "I missed you, you bastard." Then, without warning, he shoved Bones back and slammed his right fist into the stupefied man's jaw. Bones flew upwards, somersaulting over his desk and landed in an inglorious heap on the floor.

Without missing a beat, Jim leaned over the desk. "Okay, so here's the deal. Spock is in _pon farr_." When Bones made to speak, Jim held up his hand, "Yeah, yeah, I know. It's early. So, he wants me to let him die but I think he owes me so I'm gonna bust him out of jail so I can collect. I need you to help me break about a thousand local and Federation laws in order to sneak into a Vulcan maximum security prison, hack their security computer and illegally remove a possibly dangerous prisoner, making us Federation fugitives for the rest of our lives……Oh, and I need you to mix up some kind of potent airborne sedative that can be dispensed through a ventilation system to incapacitate a _plak tow_ crazed Vulan so that we can cart his ass out of jail," Jim paused. "So, what do you say, doctor?"

Bones cocked his head to the side, "Okay."

And it really had been okay. Bones was on board, one hundred percent, and in a moment of introspection, Jim was forced to admit that he hadn't doubted it for a minute. Bones was Bones, loyal, loving and always willing to put himself on the line for a friend. It really only served to confuse Jim more, that Bones would fail him at that one key moment. But that was a long discussion for lazier times and right now there was planning to be done.

Well, actually, there was drinking to be done. Two hours after their departure from Lavanar, Jim had begun to feel slightly flushed and lightheaded. Within the hour, he was completely incapacitated, lying flat on his back on the rec room deck in nothing but his boxers and a t-shirt, desperately trying not to move or breath. Every slight sensation was compounded a hundred fold. Chekov brought him cold towels while Bones secured a line to Vulcan.

Spock's father and counterpart quickly confirmed what they had already feared. Spock was entering _plak tow_. His ability to shield was completely obliterated. In contrast, his mind was actively searching for Jim. _No shit_, thought the frazzled human_, a little more help than stating the obvious, boys._ Groaning and in pain, he was pulled to his feet by Bones and Scotty and plunked down in front of the viewscreen.

"Peace and long life, James." Sarek replied. Jim starred hazily at the man on the screen before him. He'd barely met him, yet they had technically been family for four years. "I am grateful for that which you undertake for my son. Unfortunately, the nature of your bond means that you will be deeply affected by Spock's current situation. A male Vulcan's mate typically experiences many of the symptoms of _pon farr_, especially once the male has entered _plak tow_. There are a few shielding techniques that I will teach you in order to make it easier to cope. Are you ready? "

Jim nodded and for the next three hours, he and Sarek worked on putting some protective barriers in place inside his mind. It was tiring and felt wrong, every fiber of his being wanting to reach out to Spock, to comfort him, but Sarek was resolute. If Spock could feel him, it might only serve to accelerate the fever. Jim had to maintain his distance and he spent the next several hours practicing these newfound disciplines. This put planning a prison break on temporary hiatus, so Bones and Scotty decided to take the time to resolve their differences. Excusing themselves to the back cargo bay, the two proceeded to beat the every loving hell out of each other for about an hour. All finally forgiven between the two, they settled down and got rip-roaring drunk.

The next day, shields in place and hangovers subsiding, the quartet got down to planning. They kept it simple, get in, get Spock, get the hell outta Dodge. The one wrench in the machine was Chekov's discovery of the sleeper probes. It was impossible for him to remain in the prison's computer system for more than forty five minutes at a time and that just wasn't long enough for them to get in and out, no matter what way they played it. The plan was going to have be executed in two stages, whether they liked it or not. Jim just shook his head, resignation mixing with disgust. Could they never catch a break?

"So itz like zhis, Jim. I vill open the lower cargo port and you vill sneak in. Ve vill git you to zhe zhird floor holding unit, diwerting all the wisual recordings. Zhen, you vill hide in the closet for half an hour vhile I re-enter the system." Chekov looked up, scanning the other faces for approval.

"Sounds good, Pav."

"Okay, so zhen you vill progress to Mr. Spock's cell. I vill shut all other wentilation units on the floor vhile the Keptin puts Dr. McCoy's medicine into zhe air duct in zhe back of zhe building. Vhen Mr. Spock collapses, I vill open up zhe cell door and you vill get him out. You vill retreat zhe same vay you came in. The Keptin vill return to zhe ship, you vill come out with Mr. Spock, and ve vill leave and go wery far away for a wery long time." Chekov sat back, his expression satisfied.

Jim and Scotty looked equally please but the sentiment was obviously not shared by the good doctor. He glared at Jim with a look of condescending disdain, "Now wait a damn minute. I know you don't think you're going in there alone."

"Bones, I'm not putting anyone else in danger. He is my mate and this is my job. It makes the most sense that I go."

"Yeah, he's your mate, and as his older self so delicately pointed out, that makes you the prime target. What if that damn stuff doesn't work? What if you open the door and he runs you over like a freight train?"

"Well, at least he'll still be alive."

"Yeah, and then Starfleet will have both of you, which is exactly what we don't want to happen! Jim, even if you were to get to him, to satisfy the _plak tow_, they'd still turn around and kill him anyway. Probably you, too! You clearly aren't grasping just how angry the Vulcan High Council and Starfleet Bureaucratic bullshitters are when it comes to this situation. I saw it first hand!!!!", Bones' fist slammed the table. He starred down, catching his breath, while his three cohorts starred at him with something akin to awe. Finally, he met their eyes. "They tried to kill me, Jim. Uhura, too. Several times. We'd be dead if Spock and Sarek hadn't busted us out. You have to realize that they aren't screwing around here. You CAN'T get caught. And there is no way you are going in there alone, farm boy. I'm coming with you."

Jim starred for a moment, eyes wide. "Okay, Bones, all you had to do was say so." He smiled sardonically, "Boy, oh, boy, it'll be just like old times!!!!"

And so far it had been. The night had been moonless and pitch black as the Aberdeen set down in an open, sandy expanse about a mile from the prison. Jim, Scotty and Bones had bundled up against the cold night, checked their phasers and communicators, and set off on foot across the desert. Jim's gut was twisting with a sickly sweet blend of fear and hope. He needed success, he needed Spock back like he needed air. There was nothing for him if they didn't get Spock out.

He clamped down on those thoughts as they came in sight of the prison wall. "Okay, Scotty, we'll meet you at the rendezvous about one hundred yards back. We'll probably need your help to carry him."

The three men split up, Jim and Bones heading towards the cargo bay. Running up to a seldom used side door, Bones signaled Chekov, who triggered the door. Phasers drawn and set to stun, the two men quietly traversed the halls, carefully timing themselves to avoid the patrolling guards. Carefully, they made their way to the third floor holding unit. They were getting close. Jim could feel a strange, pulling sensation within his gut. It almost tickled but he had to ignore it. This was not the time to lose his composure. They seemed to be making adequate progress when all of the sudden..

"Jeem, Jeem, I'm about to be spotted. I must retreat. Get to zhe closet."

Jim grimaced, "Shit, Bones, run." Taking a brief moment to peer around the corner, the two men sprinted down the hallway towards the third floor storage closet. Chekov popped the door open for them and the two men dashed inside. As Bones pulled the door shut behind them, Jim grabbed his communicator. "Pav, whats going on?"

"I made it out in time, Jeem. It vill take about zhirty minutes to get back in. Don't go anyvhere." He chuckled at his own joke.

And so here they sat, two men who knew everything about each other but suddenly felt like uncomfortable strangers. Bones starred at his young friend, his medically trained eyes taking in the symptoms that Jim displayed despite his best shielding efforts. He was flushed and his hands were trembling. Bones was tentative, but the doctor in him finally won out. "How are you feeling?"

"Shitty," came the blunt response, "I mean it, Bones. Let's have it out. I'm sick and tired of carrying all this extra baggage around. I have to get rid of it. Spock and I have already worked a lot of our shit out. You and I need to do the same thing."

"How have you and Spock been working shit out? He's been in lock up for two years."

"We have our ways. Vulcan marriage bond and all."

"Oh, yeah, right. Look, I will gladly spend all the time in the world hashing out our issues after this is all over, kid. You have my word on that. But this isn't the damn time. You're already fighting to keep a lid on your emotions. Discussing why I hung you out to dry isn't going to make that any easier and you know it."

"I don't know shit. That's the problem. But you seem to. Are you telling me you know why you did it?"

Bones sighed, a deep, huffing breath that blew his untrimmed hair up and Jim inwardly giggled at the thought of how straggly and unkempt the two of them now looked. _If Starfleet could see us now._ Bones fixed him with a glower. "I have some theories. None of it is proven but it would certainly help explain my frame of mind at the time. But dammit, Jim, it's still not an excuse." He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

"I'm not looking for excuses. Just answers. You were my best friend. I trusted you completely. When Spock went all maniac on me, you were the first person I ran too. And you literally fed me to the fucking wolves. I don't get it. That just wasn't who you were and its driving me nuts because I _knew_ you. I know that I knew who you were. I couldn't have been so wrong about you, I know I couldn't have. So would you please just give me some answers already. Tell me why!"

Bones opened his eyes but kept them firmly fixed on the ceiling. "It's funny you should mention wolves. Yeah, I gave you to the wolves alright, but not for eating. What do you know about wolves, Jim?"

"What? I don't know. Aren't they some dog like animals that lived in Northern America and ran around in packs once upon a time? They've been extinct for hundreds of years."

"Yep, you're right. They ran around in packs and it's the pack mentality that I think applies to this situation. In a wolf pack, each wolf had their own rating, kind of like a chain of command. The head wolf was called the alpha. There was always one alpha male and female. In the pack, they were the only ones who mated and when that time came the entire pack did everything in their power to ensure that the alphas conceived." Bones stopped and glanced at Jim, eyebrows quirked, "You _do _realize that that was his plan for you, right? Vulcans have the ability to shift reproductive status in a mate when necessary."

Jim glared, "Yeah, well, we will cross _that_ goddamn bridge when we come to it. Keep going."

"Well, I thought about our situation. Spock and Nyota were trying to formulate a bond and conceive a child. In this paradigm, Spock would've had the most dominant sex drive. He was also the strongest male on board, having bested you in a physical confrontation. That would, biologically speaking, have established him as the alpha in our little "pack". He chose a mate and attempted to formalize the union but it just wouldn't take. At the time we couldn't figure out why but if my theory is correct than Spock was unconsciously willing it to fail. Animals don't' mate for love or logic. They seek out the strongest and most compatible genetic material in order to create the most viable offspring. Spock's instinct was rejecting the bonding with Nyota because it recognized that there was stronger, more compatible material available for the taking; yours.

As for me and my behavior, I admit to not fully understanding my own actions, especially at the time. I remember that it seemed very, very important to me that you and Spock be together. I told myself I was doing it for Nyota, because I was so worried about her, about her mental state. She'd had three damn miscarriages for Christ's sake. But when I step back and really examine my actions, I know that couldn't have been the reason. Say what you want but I think I'm a pretty practical guy. I would've recognized that if Spock managed to pull it off and you had a kid, it wouldn't have been Nyota's. And I sure as hell should have predicted that he would eventually drive her away. The guy was damn near obsessed with you. No, I told myself it was for Nyota to justify my behavior to my human side. What had actually happened, I think, is that I had fallen into the role of the beta in the pack. I was affected by Spock's hormonal output and just like the beta wolf, I began putting all my effort into bringing my alphas together to mate. And that's about all I got, Jim," Bones went back to starring at the ceiling.

Jim chewed this over for several moments. "Spock says we're soulmates."

"Probably true, don't ya think. And that would only further my theory. Vulcan biology is very tied up with their telepathy and bonding shit. If you're his soulmate, that would definitely make you his most viable mate on the physical level, wouldn't it? No wonder he tore half the damn ship apart."

"Yeah, no wonder," Jim thought. Soulmates, genetic compatability, _plak tows_ that burned hotter than anything he had ever felt in his life. It _was_ no wonder. Suddenly, he felt pretty fortunate that he'd come through the _pon farr_ with only some badly broken bones and internal bleeding. He turned towards his old friend, "Alright, Bones, I get it now."

"You get it now? Do you? Dammit, Jim, you can be so quick to forgive. You'd give me a free pass, wouldn't you? Now that you have some slightly palatable excuse, you'd let it go like it was nothing, wouldn't you? What the hell is wrong with you? It's not an excuse, it's just a reason. It doesn't make it okay."

"Fuck you. It does if I say it does."

"What?"

"Shut up and listen to me. You screwed me over so now I get to make the rules and if I say it's okay, than it better damn well be okay. You find a way to make it okay in your head because I need to let this shit go. I need my friends back and I need to get on with my life. And that goes for the asshole love of my life, too. You both feel so bad? Fine, fix it any way you can. But you don't get to run away and hide from me, or die on me. Just face up to what happened and let it the hell go cause I don't have the energy for this shit anymore." Realizing that he was yelling, Jim clamped his mouth shut and leaned back, carefully examining the floor.

"Fine."

He looked up, "What do you mean, fine."

"I mean fine. I'll let it go. What do you want from me?"

"I want you to stay. I want you to stick with us after we get out of this, cause we ARE getting out of this. We'll go someplace far away where the Federation doesn't pay much attention and we'll build some kind of life. The five of us are going to be wanted men. Just don't do anything stupid, like try to leave cause you think it'd be the noble thing to do. You want to make it up to me than you choose us over your damned nobility."

Bones' lips quirked, "Is this the speech you're planning to give to Spock?"

"Close enough."

"Well, it's affective." He looked up and their eyes met across the tiny room. It was different, the tension melting away, the old camaraderie showing its face again. "So, If I leave, I'll always be an asshole?"

Jim smiled, "I'm glad we understand each other."

The communicator in his hand crackled. "Jeem, I'm in. The Keptin is releasing zhe sedative now. Get to zhe cell."

Jim snapped the device closed, "Come on, let's go."

The two men carefully made their way down the long hall. "Dammit, Jim, there aren't any labels or anything on these doors. How do we know where he is?"

Jim smiled faintly, "Trust me, I'll know." They made a left turn and followed the dim hallway until Jim came to a stop. "This is it."

"You sure." Bones ducked the glare Jim through in his direction. "Okay, we need to tell Pavel. Now, how do we know he's actually out."

Jim placed his ear up against the door.

"Nerillium doors, jack ass," Bones intoned, "Completely soundproof, remember."

Jim took a step back. There was no way to be sure. Pavel had already told him there was no surveillance in the actual cells. Jim pondered this for a second. This was Bones' formula. With the exception of one time, Bones never let him down, especially when it came to pulling medical miracles out of his ass. Turning he asked, "Do you think it worked."

"It should've worked, based on everything I know about the hormone levels in _pon farr_. Which isn't much, but the other Spock filled in some of the blanks. Yeah, I think it worked."

"Okay, well I trust you." He raised his communicator, "But get your phaser ready just in case. Pavel, open her up."

Jim and Bones pressed themselves on either side of the frame as the door unlatched and swung inward. They starred at each other across the doorway for a full minute, listening intently. There was no sound from within the cell. "This is it," thought Jim, "the leap of faith." Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

When Bones followed less than fifteen seconds later, he found his young friend frozen to the spot only three steps inside the door. Two years. It felt like nothing and an eternity all at the same time. Jim couldn't move but nor could he pull his eyes away from the sight in front of him.

Spock sprawled on his back, feet tangled, arms flopped above his head. His face looked completely peaceful in sleep, lacking any hit of mania or even the rigidity that it wore in consciousness. His hair was longer and much shaggier that Jim had ever seen it and an hysterical thought_ Oh, good, he'll blend in with the rest of us_, surfaced in his mind. No longer concerned with the pending danger, he advanced on his unconscious mate and knelt down next to his shoulder. Carefully extending his left hand, he gently caressed a cheek, lips, an ear. The feeling was incredible¸ so right, so much like home, and before he knew what he was doing, Jim had looped his right arm under Spock's shoulders and pulled him into his arms. Holding him tightly, he allowed their foreheads to touch. And the welcoming sensation almost overwhelmed him when suddenly the piercing shriek of an alarm dragged him back into the real world.

Bones grabbed his communicator. "Pavel, what the hell, kid."

"Doctor, ve have a small problem."

"I can't hear you. Hold on." He quickly stepped into the hall. "What is it?"

"Zhere is a problem in zhe fourth holding quadrant. It has nozhing to do vith you but extra guards are being summoned. I zhink zhey might……Oh, no."

Jim heard the panic in Chekov's voice and tried to stand but before he had time to react, the heavy door slammed shut in front of him. He heard the lock click but petulance won out over practicality and he pulled at the door handle for a minute in frustration. Finally, he turned back to his communicator, "Pav, can you get the door open?"

"I'm sorry, Jeem. I had to leave zhe system again. Zhe whole prison is in lockdown. Ve must vait out the alarm before I can get back in. Doctor, you must go back to zhe closet."

"Shit, I can't leave him in there alone. Pavel, how long?"

"I don't know, doctor. I'm not expert on Wulcan prison regulations. I vill go as fast as I can."

"Pavel, the sedative only lasts for two hours at the max."

"Vell, I vill do my best! Zhe closet, doctor."

McCoy grumbled but grudgingly obeyed. Thankfully, the door remained unlocked and he sat on the closet floor, enjoying the extra room one less full grown adult afforded to him. Minutes stretched by, became an hour, and he felt himself beginning to nod off in the darkness. He had almost completely drifted away when the communicator by his side suddenly buzzed to life.

"Bones…….oh shit, BONES!! I have a big problem!!"

Grabbing the shrieking box, he compressed the comm. "What is it, kid."

"He's waking up!!!"

Bones cursed under his breath. "Did you hear that, you little Russian twit. Where are you?"

"I'm here doctor. I'm almost in. Get to zhe cell."

Bones raced through the hallways, oblivious to any Vulcan prison guards who might be watching. As he neared the door he heard the lock disengage. He pushed inside. Jim was pressed up against the opposite wall, trying to maintain as much distance as possible from the stirring Vulcan. Jim eyed him desperately, "Your damn sedative didn't hold him long enough. Now what?"

Bones racked his brain. "The nerve pinch! You know how to do it!"

Jim rolled his eyes, "Yeah, he showed me how but I can't do it. It's never worked, not once."

"Yeah, well, let's try again." Bones bounded forward and pulled the semi-conscious Vulcan into a sitting position. "Now, Jim, before he realizes you're here."

Jim dashed forward, trying to stay out of the line of sight, ignoring Bones' disgusted expression. He reached forward, carefully positioned his hands, and squeezed with all his might….Nothing. The Vulcan continued to move sluggishly

Jim thought Bones was going to kill him dead with his glare. "Try it again, you moron." Jim complied but with the same results. "I told you I couldn't do it. Here why don't you try?"

"I don't know how."

"Sure you do. You're a doctor. Just press on the nerves all at once. It has to be simultaneous."

Bones grimaced. He was a doctor, not a damn anesthesiologist….no wait……they were doctors, too. SHIT! Okay, grab the trapezius nerve. He leaned in, applying as much pressure as possible. Spock's face tensed momentarily, then slackened once again into unconsciousness. Jim starred, rendered speechless for the moment. "How the hell did you do that?"

Bones shrugged. "Beginner's luck. Now let's get the hell out of here." He stepped to the doorway and glanced in both directions.

Jim contemplated the unconscious figure at his feet. "Well," he thought, "Turn about is fair play, my friend," He reached down and grasped the sleeping Vulcan by his shoulder and the waist band of his loose linen pants. In one fluid movement, he swung Spock onto his shoulder and headed out the door after Bones. They raced through the halls, the possibility of success hurrying them on.

Bones grabbed his communicator, "Pavel, we're almost to the cargo doors."

"Okay, I'm disengaging the locks."

In the distant bowels of the prison, behind them, Bones could hear the sound of excited voices. He caught Jim's eyes. "I think this jig might be up. We need to get out of here."

"Okay, Pav, let's go."

The door popped open. The two men manipulated their burden out the door and across the expanse of sand as fast as they could. They had just cleared the first dunes when the sirens came blaring back to life. Floodlights illuminated the sand behind them. Diving behind a string of bushes, Jim and Bones glanced back at the looming building. It looked like something out of an old terran prison movie. Suddenly, heavy hands fell on both their shoulders.

"Och, waddya waitin for. Do ya want us ta get caught?"

Scotty glanced down while Bones and Jim took a moment to swallow their pounding hearts. "He looks harmless as a wee babe. Lets git him back to the ship while he's still like this, dontcha think?" Hefting along at a steady pace, the three men headed off towards the ship. Speed was a necessity and though Jim hated to do it, he traded Spock off to the other two for the last two thirds of the mile. All that mattered was that they get out of there. They were just too close to fail.

Finally, the Aberdeen appeared out of the pitch black night. Chekov met then at the gangplank. "Ve've got to go. Ve're about to have company."

"Right, fire her up, Mr. Chekov. Dya think you two can handle him?" Without waiting for a reply, Scotty and Chekov raced to the command console. The Aberdeen roared to life and the gangplank withdrew. "Hold on to your hats, friends," shouted the jubilant Scotsman, and the Aberdeen lifted off and sped away into the night.


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N: Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both..... I have hit a fork in the road with this story and I see two options. I can either tie the story up neatly here and the next chapter will be an epilogue. Or there is one other plot twist I envision, which would steer the story back towards the action genre. I'm not sure what to do so I figured I'd put it to a vote. **

**A. leave well enough alone**

**B. keep on typing**

**I look forward to your feedback and thanks so much for reading!**

**Ah yes, and Paramount owns Star Trek**

* * *

Ch. 10

James Tiberius Kirk was not given to fits of terror. Hell, it took a lot to even get him embarrassed. But he recognized the feelings when they happened and terror, real, abject terror was what he was experiencing now. He planted his hands on the door to the auxiliary cargo bay and let his head rest between them, appreciating the cool metal on his feverish face. He listened carefully, straining to hear the slightest sounds emanating from the chamber but so far he heard nothing. And why was that, exactly? He knew Spock was awake. He had become intensely aware the moment his mate had regained consciousness, the heat of the _plak tow_ reaching out with swirling fingers, trying to consume him. Despite this, he didn't hear the sounds of an enraged Vulcan attempting to beat down the cargo bay door. He heard nothing and that actually scared him much more. He had already seen Spock in full-on blood fever so at least he knew what to expect. Silence was an unknown variable and it turned Jim's stomach.

Time was wasting. The ship had cleared New Vulcan space an hour ago. A temporary course was plotted, auto-pilot had been engaged and Bones, Scotty, and Chekov were gathered in the rec room under the pretext of a poker game. Jim wasn't fooled. He knew they had phasers and medical equipment on standby and their ears peeled, just waiting for an indication that something was going wrong. That image didn't exactly help his nerves. "Yeah," Jim thought to himself, "as if this scenario isn't stressful enough. Now I have performance anxiety." But the knowledge of their presence drove home the reality of his situation. There were no other responsibilities, no other distractions. Everything that he had done, that he had convinced them to do in the last seven days had led up to this moment. All he had to do was open up the door and face it.

He had done everything in his power to prepare for the moment. He and Bones had discussed the logistics and decided that the auxiliary cargo bay made the most sense. It had thick walls and an independent temperature control. It was also within easy distance of the rec room, where the good doctor insisted on staying for the duration. Finally, it boasted its own little fresher, with a water-fed sink. They had cleared out any and all debris and dragged in two standard issue bunk mattresses. They had replicated large fitted sheets and had made up a bed in the middle of the room. The absurd intimacy of the situation hadn't been lost on Jim and he had remarked, "I feel like an Amish bride preparing her wedding bed with her mom!"

Bones had smirked, "I'll do you one better." Stepping into the hall, he came back with a small carton. "Your honeymoon care package."

Jim had grabbed the box and ripped into it. "I swear, Bones, if you gave me candles and edible underwear, I'm gonna knock your teeth down your throat." Carefully, he perused the contents. Nutrient bars, medical creams, adhesive bandages and other general first aid equipment filled the container. Jim sighed. Bones really was worried.

"Why are you giving me all this stuff? Aren't you going to come running in and treat me?"

"No, I won't be able to, unless something really bad happens. You were only semi-conscious the last time so you might not remember how possessive Spock became. No one could get within twenty feet of you, not even to give you medical attention that you obviously needed. He wouldn't even allow me to splint your arm. So, this time I'm giving you everything you'll need to treat yourself. I'm hoping that broken bones will not come into play."

Jim nodded. He hoped so, too. Rifling through the rest of the carton, he pulled out four tubes of clear liquid. "Lube, Bones? You sure are thorough."

"Yeah, and I expect it to be used copiously. Doctor's orders. I want you coming through this as hale and whole as possible."

Jim caught his eyes, "I'm not going to fight this time, Bones. I'm not going to lead him on a week-long pursuit through a giant ship. If I just give him what he wants, it should make all the difference in the world." His voice carried a confidence he didn't feel and both men could see their own doubt reflected in the other's eyes.

Well, doubts be damned now. Terror and panic, too. Brief, fleeting images of Spock's vicious assault danced through his mind but he brutally suppressed them. It was too late to dwell on that. He'd decided to break Spock out of prison and save his life. So far, he'd only fulfilled half that pledge and the moment was finally upon him. Pushing off the wall, he walked stiffly back to the rec room and looked at his three shipmates and friends.

"He's awake. I've got to go."

Their heads snapped up from their card game in perfect synch. Jim knew that fear and tension were written all over his face and he took a couple of deep breaths to try and calm the sick, churning knot in his stomach.

Scotty cocked his head at him in concern, "Och, Jim, if yer na ready, just give yerself a minute. He's locked in the cargo bay and he's na goin anywhere. What can another hour hurt?"

Jim and Bones exchanged a knowing look. "Scotty, do you remember the damage done to the bulkhead in between their cabins? You know, the Vulcan sized hole in the wall?" Bones asked innocently.

"I sure do, doctor. Took a damn long time to fix."

"Well, the hole came from Spock. No tools, no phasers, just Spock." Scotty looked confused. "Dammit, Scotty, he tore open the bulkhead with his bare hands."

For a moment, Scotty was struck dumb. "Oh." There was really nothing else to say.

Bones stood up and took Jim by the shoulder. "You want me to walk you down?"

Jim smiled but shook his head, ignoring the tremors that raced up and down his arms. "Nah, I got this."

"Okay, but remember what I said. Use the damn stuff, doctor's orders."

Jim rolled his eyes, "Yes, DOCTOR, I know. I already….uh……made some preparations, so to speak." He took a few steps, "Hey, Bones?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"Thanks." Letting the word hang in the air, he headed down the hall, ten steps, six steps, three. The cargo bay door was to the left. He listened again. There was still no sound but he could feel the heat, the tempered madness, the way his skin felt too tight for his body. He could feel the damn _plak tow_. Why was Spock so damn quiet?

Delaying the inevitable, he starred down at himself for a moment before pulling his shirt over his head¸ knowing any clothes he wore in there would be completely destroyed. He slowly stripped off his shoes, socks, and pants before folding them into an uncharacteristically neat pile near the door. He felt vulnerable and exposed, clad only in boxers but he had to admit he also felt a sense of a freedom. A part of him, primal and subconscious but there, wanted this badly and it was time to throw in with that part. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward and palmed open the cargo bay door.

Someone had remembered to dim the lights and he supposed he should thank Bones for that. All senses were heightened during _pon farr_ and he was sure the lights at full capacity would've killed Spock's eyes. Jim scanned the room and tensed as his eyes fell on the crouched form in the far corner. The door slid shut behind him and he backed into it involuntarily. "Stop it," he berated inwardly, "You have to stop this. You can't fight him and it'll only make things worse if you try." He breathed in carefully, steadily, willing himself not to give in to impulse to run. With executed deliberateness, he slowly dropped the mental shields Sarek had taught him to employ.

The searing heat scalded him again. He felt it on his skin, in his mind, inside his soul. It was temptation and insanity and pure animal lust. It was practically irresistible and Jim knew that he was feeling only about a tenth of what Spock was experiencing. How the hell was he managing to stay so calm?

Jim was startled out of these thoughts by a sudden movement. Spock surged to his feet, his movements sharp and predatory. Jim stomach lurched and his breath caught in his throat as Spock's head lunged slightly, as if catching a scent on the air. His body followed his nose around and suddenly the two men were starring into each other's eyes from across the length of the cargo bay. Jim felt his mouth go dry and sweat break out on his forehead. He weaved slightly, vaguely lightheaded and recognized the distinct possibility that he might faint. Despite this, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the imposing figure across from him. Calm?! He had thought Spock was calm. Those eyes betrayed no semblance of calm, just barely maintained control clamping down on raw animalism. And that control was just about expended.

With lightning speed, the Vulcan surged across the small containment unit. There was no time to run, duck or even blink before his hands slammed into the wall on either side of Jim's head. Overwhelmed by the sweltering heat emanating off his mate's frame, stupefied by his own latent panic, Jim pressed his body back into the cool bulkhead, gaining an additional centimeter of temporary freedom.

Spock's breaths were sharp and he kept his eyes fixed on the floor. He made no movement and Jim stayed as still as possible. Seconds of reprieve ticked by, when, with a sudden intake of breath, Spock slowly raised his head. His eyes burned, but the fire was momentarily tempered as he swept his gaze over Jim's shoulders, and face, drinking in the sight. His arms bent and he let the length of his forearms rest against the bulkhead as he cradled Jim's head and neck in a loose embrace. The tips of their noses almost touching, he inhaled deeply, moving over Jim's neck and hair, breathing in the scent of him, than pressing his face into the human's, nuzzling him cheek to cheek.

Of all the things Jim had expected, this would've been the most remote. But here he was, nestled in Spock's arms, their breath and heartbeats in perfect synch. He felt lulled and sleepy and was just beginning to relax when Spock suddenly dug his fingers into his biceps and pushed him into the wall. Terrified but determined blue eyes met enraged brown ones as Spock spit out, "I told you to let me die!"

Jim's eyes were plaintive. "I couldn't," he said in a small voice. He searched the Vulcan's face, looking for a sign of the violence he feared was to come. Instead, Spock released him and took a step back. "I will not do this," he seethed, "I will fight it with everything I possess!"

Jim felt his fears leaching out of him. They were replaced by a potent combination of emotions that threatened to ignite if he didn't get them under control. Love for this man who still sought his own destruction as an act of penance, anger at the implications of the sacrifice, determination to prevent Spock's death. Forgetting logic, common sense, or self-preservation he pushed off the wall and flung his arms around Spock's neck. Resisting the Vulcan's half-hearted attempts to push him away, he found his ear and whispered, "Then you'll be fighting me every damn step of the way, you stubborn ass!"

Jim could feel the warring emotions rippling through Spock's body and mind. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an arm flailing, a fist forming, and he cringed, waiting for the impact. It never came. Instead, two hands found his back, tentative at first but then firm and resolute, clinging to him, encircling him and holding him close. Emboldened, he clung tighter to Spock's neck, strengthened by sheer force of will. He felt the capitulation, felt the Vulcan's shoulders relax into acceptance even as his arms tightened around Jim's waist, yet he still wasn't expecting it when Spock suddenly lifted him, striding the three steps to thrust him into the bulkhead. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second and then Spock was on him, seizing his mouth, sucking the air from his chest, lingering over his tongue and lips. The kiss ended abruptly as Spock wrenched his mouth away and grasped a handful of Jim's unkempt hair. Yanking the human's head back, he snarled, "This is it! If we do this, I will never, ever let you go!"

Jim smiled, "Agreed," he said and Spock was lost. An inhuman glaze dropped over his eyes as he roughly spun Jim around and pressed him into the bulkhead. There was no room to maneuver, no way to escape if he suddenly decided he wanted to. He felt hot hands running down his back, grasping the elastic around his waist, felt the material shred and tear away. He felt fingers digging into his inner thigh, his leg bent at the knee and dragged upward roughly, felt Spock's hips pinioning him to the cargo bay wall and then he was in him, to the hilt, so deep it felt like he was nudging Jim's heart. He gasped at the strange combination of pain and pleasure, his hands flailing against the wall, finding a seam in the metal corrugation and clinging to it as the hot body behind him thrust in and out. His knee buckled but he remained trapped against the cool steel of the bulkhead, a hot arm hooked under his leg, another wrapping itself across his shoulder to find the meld points on his face. The sensations exploded, doubling, tripling, spinning out of control and he came, hard and frantic, feeling the intense heat in his body and his mind, knowing that Spock had finished, too. He collapsed into the wall, felt the Vulcan drop his leg and sag into his back. There the stood, panting in synchronous rhythm for whole minutes before Spock grasped his shoulder and pulled him around. Taking his face in both hands, Spock sunk deeply into his mind. Jim saw him grasping the golden string that was their bond, picking it up, looping it tightly around Jim's waist and shoulders, pulling him closer, ensnaring him.

"_You are MINE!"_

"_And you're mine."_ Grabbing the thread, Jim threw it over Spock, mimicking his movements until they were both hopelessly tangled, pressed together by the clinging string. Jim starred at him, drowning in his eyes as conscious thought began to break apart and float away. The last thing he remembered for a very long time was the earth tilting, his body pressed down into a mattress by a hot, heavy presence on his chest and legs.

********

"This is fitting," thought Montgomery Scott, "Since the dawn of time, many a manly event has occurred under cover of a poker game. And tonight, we play poker in order to avoid admitting that we are waiting to act as emergency clean up patrol while our two former captains screw each other senseless," he giggled uneasily in his own head, "Ah, the things you learn in space."

They had been playing cards, or adequately faking it, for a good nine hours before Chekov fell asleep at the table. The good doctor had held out for another two but he was now reclined in his chair, feet up on the table, snoring gently. Scotty was the only one left and he shuffled the cards and dealt out a game of solitaire. He knew Bones was too fixated on the here and now, the events that were currently unfolding in his cargo bay, to plan for the future. But like it or not, they needed a plan. Chekov had done a good job covering their tracks and there might never be enough proof for them to be tried in any court but Scotty had a bad feeling that the long arm of the law was going to be the least of their worries. There were other long arms out there, some with much more clout simply because they were _not_ the law, and he had no doubt that the Vulcan Council and the Federation were quickly going to deduce who was responsible for this little jail break. It just reeked of James Kirk and company.

So they needed a plan, a destination, someplace to lay low. And it had to be far away, well out of reach of the Federation. So he shuffled cards and taxed his brain but no solutions presented themselves. An hour later, he too was asleep.

***********

Jim starred up at the ceiling of the cargo bay. _Endure_ he repeated over and over in his head. And surprisingly he found he could endure it, would gladly endure it because each thrust of the man who was currently heaving his body over his, into his, each thrust was one more step that Spock took towards clawing his way back to him….and Jim would endure anything at this point if it would just give the two of them the chance they deserved. His current physical proximity was eerily similar to the last _pon farr _he had experienced, minus the broken bones. And yet he had easily relented when Spock pulled his wrists up over his head and pressed them to the mattress with his right hand while his left arm curled under and around Jim's shoulder, holding him firmly in place. He recognized that he was trapped, could not pull away if he tried but the sensation didn't cause rage, fear, or humiliation this time. The hot hands that held him down were different somehow, as if they didn't seek to pin Jim so much as anchor Spock, tethering him to the realization that sometime soon he would cease to be an animal and once again become a man.

Gasping, Jim bucked slightly as the body atop his seized up in climax, coming inside him once again. "This too, was different," Jim thought as Spock rode out the crests of his orgasm with his forehead pressed into Jim's. He looked up into Spock's face; eyes squeezed shut, mouth open, emitting a silent, primal cry and found it beautiful. And he welcomed the heavy sensation when Spock released his grip on his wrists and collapsed on top of him, pillowing his head into Jim's chest. Tentative for a moment, Jim reached down and wrapped his arms around his exhausted mate. They lay quietly for a while, Spock panting in recovery and Jim slowly rubbing circles along his back.

"_Is it over?"_

"_NO!" _the voice growled inside his head.

"_Okay, that's okay, rest for a minute."_

And he tried, he really did, and Jim appreciated him for the effort it took to lie still against him for five minutes in a futile attempt to give them both a much needed break. But he could also feel when the effort became too much and Spock was defeated by the animal within. He put up no struggle when Spock reared back and flipped him onto his stomach, pulling his hands back up over his head. With lightning speed his was inside him again and Jim breathed carefully in through his nose, out through his mouth, whispering the mantra over and over again in his head. _Endure._

*******************

"How long?"

"Thirty-seven hours, give or take."

"Is zhat normal, doctor?"

"Last time, it was forty-three."

"Oh."

"Relax, kid, I think it's gonna be fine."

"If you zay zo."

_I hope so._

*********************

The cold woke him. He had felt that cold before, even become accustomed to it when he had lived aboard the Enterprise day in and day out. The last three and a half years had been spent on a planet much like his native Vulcan, though, and his body had re-acclimated to the extreme heat. He hadn't noticed the chill before but then a person didn't feel cold when they were burning with fever. And that could lead him to only one conclusion. The fever had broken. He had survived the _pon farr._ But that was only possible if………Jim?

He opened his eyes. The room was familiar but his memory of it was clouded by a gauzy red haze. It was some sort of cargo bay and it was his first clear recollection after collapsing in his cell on New Vulcan. He had smelled Jim, felt Jim, sensed him everywhere and he had mustered every reserve he had, drawn into himself, resolved to fight the fever. He was supposed to die, it was what he wanted. But Jim said no.

He shivered convulsively. Jim. He was right beside him, sleeping the sleep of the truly exhausted. Tentatively, Spock reached out hand, running a finger over the human's neck, down the length of his spine. Jim was with him, he hadn't let him die. Spock's head swam, latent emotions welling up, threatening to overflow. He had so many things to say but now was not the time. Jim was physically spent…..and impossibly warm. He had obviously gone to a great deal of trouble to rescue him and wouldn't want him to expire from the elements. The only logical course of action, it seemed, was to share body heat. Satisfied with his plan of action, Spock leaned down and grasped the sheet, noticing for the first time a blanket lying at the foot of the mattress. Fascinating. That hadn't been in the room before. Someone was obviously keeping watch over them, someone with the medical knowledge to mix up a powerful sedative, if Spock's deductions were correct. Ah, the good doctor. Emotions swelled again.

Spock grabbed the blanket, spreading it over himself and his exhausted mate. He was going to have to face a lot of things in the next few hours and logic dictated that he get some rest first. Tucking the blanket over him, he spooned himself around Jim and carefully opened their bond link. Sensations of completion and satisfaction flowed through the channel, soothing him. Jim was resting comfortably, his mind uninjured and his body relatively pain free. Relieved by this discovery, Spock nestled closer and closed his eyes. He was asleep again in minutes.

********************

The fever may have broken but his inner chronometer still hadn't recovered. When Spock awoke again, all he knew was that hours had passed and he finally felt rested and alert. Jim still slept deeply, burrowed into his chest. He briefly allowed himself the pleasure of running his hands over the soft hair and smooth skin of his mate, enjoying the tactile reminder of his presence. But now he had questions that required answers. He needed to get up, to seek out the information he required, to eat, to meditate, to bring himself back after the physical and mental ravages of the fever. He delicately slid himself out of the bed, lowering Jim's head and shoulders to the mattress and covering him with the blanket. He allowed himself a small concession and brushed a kiss on Jim's cheek before standing up and surveying his surroundings. Someone, probably McCoy again, had left two piles of clothing inside the door. He examined them; they were gray and shapeless but appeared to be loose fitting and warm. And among the pile, he found something that resembled a black meditation robe! He sighed inwardly. He was an abuser, of power, of people, of position. And so far he had received more love and care than he had any right to deserve or accept.

Grabbing the clothes, he headed towards the little fresher to the side of the room. He took advantage of the small sonic shower and the water-fed sink, splashing some cold water onto his face. He briefly caught sight of his reflection in the small mirror and quickly turned away. Perhaps it was irrational but he just wasn't ready to look himself in the eye yet. Pulling on the clothes and the slippers, he padded across the cargo bay and opened the door.

He emerged into a long hallway and paused, listening carefully. He could make out three distinct voices, human, male. The doctor. Yes, he was definitely here. Mr. Chekov? Indeed, his voice was still quite distinctive. And if he was here than the third voice, which had lapsed into silence, could only be Mr. Scott. Spock took a deep breath. A conversation with these three men was unlikely to be peaceful or pleasant but it was necessary and Spock saw no point in postponing the inevitable. He released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding and strode the last five steps into the Aberdeen rec room.

In a flash, the good doctor was all over him, tricorder in hand, and Spock took comfort in the familiar action and questions.

"How do you feel?"

"I am fine, doctor."

"Yeah, says you. I decide whether or not you're fine, you green-blooded…" Bones drifted off into incoherent mumbles as he finished his scan. "Okay, you're fine. Where's Jim."

"Asleep. He appears fine, too, but I will bow to your better judgment."

Bones threw him an indecipherable glance and ran down the corridor, leaving Spock to face a malcontented Russian and a pissed off Scott. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor and continued to hover in the doorway, feeling unable to enter without verbal permission. He could feel their eyes perusing him, sensed when they exchanged a look. Tense and uncomfortable, he mentally castigated himself for not meditating first. He was in no shape for a verbal confrontation. Or a physical one, which he began to suspect when Scotty stood up and began walking toward him. He stopped in the doorway, keeping his own eyes carefully averted.

"Mr. Spock."

"Mr. Scott?"

"This is a cargo ship, Mr. Spock. We are na in need of a scientist but we could always do with an extra pair of hands. As ya are here, on my ship, and in light o' the circumstances, I believe I own yer ass, if ya pardon my language. Are we clear?"

"Perfectly."

"Alright, we'll see. Now eat something. Ya look a bit peaked." Without a backwards glance, he strode toward the bow. Spock continued to stare at the floor. That had gone a bit better than he'd hoped. He glanced up suddenly when he heard a sharp, metallic clank on the rec room table. "Itz a Wulcan dish, Mr. Spock," said the young Russian, looking up from the plate of food he'd just pulled from the replicator, "You should eat." Spock nodded absently, taking a seat and picking up a fork. He looked up when he noticed Chekov starring at him. "Don't vorry, I didn't spit in it or anyzhing." The young man's smile seemed genuine and relieved when Spock took a bite. "Vell, I'll just leave you to it," he said as he headed towards the bow, abandoning Spock to his meal and his thoughts.

Why was he alive? Why hadn't Jim let him die? And why were these three, who by all accounts should hate him, giving him food, clothes and living arrangements? His thoughts were disordered and uncertain and distinctly human and he had just made a firm decision to ask Mr. Scott to allow him a place to meditate when Bones came striding back into the rec room. The two men eyed each other with mutually cryptic expressions before Bones said, "I think you should go talk to him."

"I feel quite disconcerted, doctor. I believe it would be advantageous for me to meditate first."

Bones snorted, "Look, I'd call you an emotionless walking computer but I suppose that would be inappropriate right now because that's what you're feeling, Spock. They're called emotions, ya know, those pesky human traits you always swore you didn't have."

"I never claimed to be without emotions, doctor. I just didn't allow them free reign over my actions."

"Yeah, well, that isn't the case now, is it? And you're not going to run away and bottle them all up again. You owe him a lot, Spock, and one of the things you owe is your complete honesty, goddammit. What? Are you worried he can't handle it? After everything he's already been through for you?!" Bones broke off his tirade and took a deep breath as Scotty and Chekov quietly re-entered the room, "Look, I'm not judging you. I can't. I have my own demons to live with and my own amends to make. But whether you like to admit it or not, you know I have good intuitions and right now I'm telling you to go talk to him. So you're an emotional wreck. Good! He's spent the last four years seeing you as this invincible force that he stood no chance against. Go show him your weakness cause it's the only way things will ever be better for you!" With that, Bones stepped out of the doorway to make room.

Spock scanned the room, taking in the expressions of the three other occupants.

"Go!" said Chekov earnestly.

"Aye, Go already," echoed the petulant Scott.

His feet propelled him out the door and down the corner even as his mind waged a battle inside his head. He was a Vulcan! He did not surrender to his emotions yet he couldn't seem to stop his feet. Nothing was right anymore, not him¸ not Starfleet, not the Vulcan way of life he had subscribed to. Everything he held dear had failed him and in the midst of it all, raw, human emotion had emerged to save him. He recognized it well, had seen it on his mother's face whenever she had looked at him and just a minute ago, he had seen it the faces of his three former shipmates. They had risked their freedom and their lives to save him. Yes, they had done it for Jim but that didn't explain the Vulcan food or the robe. No, they were furious at him, disgusted with him, but the love ran deeper than that. They would punish him and make him earn his way back but he could see that they already intended to forgive him. It staggered him, the intensity of that emotion¸ and unnerved him too because how much stronger must Jim's feelings be. He had put his life on the line for Spock. The least he could do was let down his walls. Determination marking his gait, he entered the cargo bay.

Jim was sitting up in bed, dressed in similar loose, gray clothing. He was drinking some kind of malted shake and Spock detected the doctor's instructions somewhere behind the beverage. Jim certainly didn't seem excited by it. Spock wasted no time with pleasantries. He walked over, crawled across the mattress and settled himself next to Jim. The tension in the room was suffocating. No longer was there the distraction of imminent death. Nor were they speaking in an illusion while physically miles apart. Now it was just them, tangible, accessible but for the layers of complex emotional baggage currently engulfing them. Spock could not find the right words and he sat in miserable silence until Jim's sedate voice startled him into awareness.

"You blocked me."

"I did."

"You wanted me to let you die."

"That was my intention, yes."

"Fuck you. You don't get off so easy."

Spock looked up, surprise registering on his face. "Jim, I would not classify the lingering death of _pon farr_ as easy. It has been called excruciating."

Jim scoffed, "Oh yeah? Well, it's nothing compared to what you're in for. You want to take the easy way out!" He reared back and grabbed Spock roughly by the chin. The Vulcan tensed but did not fight as Jim got right in his face. "You don't get to take the easy way out. I decided that if you wanted to sacrifice your life, then you forfeit it and it becomes mine. And it takes a hell of a lot more commitment and remorse to sacrifice your life and then keep on living it. You have guilt? Good! Live with it. You feel pain? You can fucking live with that, too. But you have to live with me. That is the price for you penance, Spock. That is the pound of flesh that I am going to collect."

Jim's face was flushed and he was practically roaring when he released Spock's face. Spock starred up at him, almost hypnotized by what he saw. His shields were in tatters and the emotional upheaval from both of them was battering him on all fronts. Tears stood in his eyes as he looked up as his enraged mate. "What do you want from me?"

"Oh, I'll tell you. See, I've had a lot of time to think. Scotty asked me this a couple of months ago and I knew exactly what to say." Without warning, Jim draw back his arm, putting four years worth of love, hate, rage, and humiliation into a staggering right cross that snapped Spock's face sideways. Giving the dazed Vulcan no time to recover, Jim followed with a vicious upper cut that cracked Spock's teeth together. A delicate line of green blood seeped through the cut skin but Jim hardly noticed. "Want I want, T'HY"LA, is to beat the ever loving shit out of you." He punctuated with a left hook. Spock did nothing to stop him. "I want to lay you out like you did to me. I want you to know what it's like to feel pain in your entire damn body." He briefly shifted gears, driving his fist into the Vulcan's unprotected belly. Spock let out a gasp and doubled in but still did nothing to retaliate.

Jim was beyond conscious thought. All the intense, fluctuating emotions he had experienced in the last four years had combined with an incredible surge of adrenaline to turn him into a battering ram, more than capable of inflicting serious harm on a Vulcan who couldn't, or wouldn't, fight back. His lips pulled back in an ugly smirk and he leaned into Spock's rapidly swelling face. "Oh, yeah. And I want you to feel that pain inside and out." He lunged, grabbing Spock's ear and the back of his head, dragging him over onto his stomach. "Let's see how you like it," he snarled as he grabbed the elastic at Spock's waist, dragging his pants down over his hips.

He was losing it, he was really going to do it and Spock knew with sudden finality that this would break Jim more than anything. And he would not allow Jim to suffer anymore. Pushing himself up, he swept an arm back and hooked Jim around the waist, slamming him on his back into the mattress. Jim struck out, swinging and kicking at him, but Spock refused to hold him down. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Jim's back and dragged him into a vice-like hug. As the human continued to pummel his back, he found his ear and whispered, "I am sorry." Over and over, Jim struck him and Spock held fast, continuing the soothing litany of remorse. "I am so sorry." The fists began to fade, fatigued muscles gave out and Jim's arms wrapped loosely around Spock's back. His forehead came to rest of the Vulcan's shoulder and his breath hitched into an agonized sob. Spock pulled him closer, carefully navigating them down to the mattress and let Jim cry himself clean. His own tears were more restrained but no less cathartic.

It could've been hours or days later when he opened his eyes. Had they actually cried themselves to sleep? He looked beside him and saw that Jim was already awake, looking at him intently. He brought his hand up to the human's cheek¸ caressed it and then gently pulled their mouths together. His chin flared in pain but he barely felt it, distracted by the warm pressure of his mate's lips. Drawing apart fractionally, they stared into each other's eyes. Finally, Spock said, "I know you're pain."

"I believe you. How?"

"When you allowed me into your mind. I found it there, and I found my face at its root. And you are right, my life is forfeit to you." He paused, "You have successfully "beat the shit out of me" as you say. Did you and Mr. Scott discuss anything else you might want?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"Then, I want to take care of you. I want to nurse you back to health. And then I want to live happily ever after."

Spock nodded and pulled him closer. "Agreed," he said against his lips.

Jim smiled, "So, you'll never let me go."

Spock cupped his face, the pressure gentle but firm. "You are mine!"

"Yeah, and you're mine."


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who weighed in. I've decided to throw in one more twist. Enjoy!**

* * *

Ch. 11: One year later

"Look, ya damn, bloody ape, I dunna care about yer damn timetable. If ya hadna kept me sittin here for three hours, we'd have had plenty of time to unload."

"Yeah, yeah, buddy. I don't make the rules. If ya got a problem, take it up with the boss."

"Foin, then, take me ta yer bloody boss!"

The tall, beefy, ill-smelling man guffawed loudly, spraying a thin mist of spittle across the outraged visage of one Montgomery Scott. "Ha, yeah, okay buddy. You wait right here while I go and get him, okay." As he strode away, Scotty could still here him chuckling under his breath, "Get the boss!! Ha, ha, ha."

Scotty pressed his hands into his temples and resisted the urge to chase down the big tosser and roll him. Why had he decided to handle the docking order himself? Why hadn't he sent Pavel or Spock instead? They, at least, had the patience to deal with these power happy yokels. Striding out of the customs office to regain his temper, he looked across the tarmac, catching sight of his ship off in the distance. He could vaguely make out the four figures seated on the roof. Pressing a finger into the bridge of his nose, he went to grab his communicator to inform him of the holdup. At the last minute, he thought better of it. In his current mood, he was liable to unleash a vitriolic rant on whichever crewman answered, leading to bad moods all around, pissy ball breaking from Bones and no relief for his worsening headache. Instead, he extended an arm and made a thumbs-down gesture. Spock had excellent vision. He'd see it.

He had just found an old crate in an alley next to the customs office and had plunked himself down to massage his throbbing head when a large shadow fell over him. Opening his eyes, he stared up at the burly customs agent and two equally well-fed lackeys. "So," heckled Mr. Customs, "You want to see the boss, do you. Turns out, he'd like to see you, too."

Scotty never even saw the pipe that cracked him across the back of his head.

He woke up gradually, swaying and teetering on a small wooden chair in the middle of a dimly lit room. Christ on a sidecar! He thought his head had hurt before! Off to the left he heard several high pitched voices, each one like a knife in his eyes. "Och," he thought, "kill me already but please shut the blessed hell up." As if on cue, the voices were silenced. He heard footsteps approaching and looked up to meet his three ugly attackers. "So, where's the boss?"

Mr. Customs leaned down, bathing Scotty in fetid breath. "As far as you're concerned, sweetheart, I am the boss. When I talk, you listen. When I say jump, you say how high. And when I say give me the access codes to your cargo bay so I can strip your shipment, you say yes sir."

"Or I could just tell ya ta kiss my ass!"

Mr. Customs smiled, "Yeah, we could do it that way, too." Still grinning, he reared back and punched Scotty right in the stomach. He doubled over and slumped out of the chair, completely winded. He could hear the ugly laughter from his three assailants layered over conversation from the outside room. "Great," he thought, "Who knows how many there are." Surveying the situation, he decided that nobility was meant for another day, reared back, and kicked ugly lackey number one cleanly in the nuts. As the man doubled over in agony, Scotty jumped to his feet. He dodged to avoid a kick, only to walk into an ugly left hook. Crashing back down on his back, he found himself being summarily stomped into oblivion and was just about to make his peace with God when the door to the room flew open and slammed into the wall.

"Hello, gentlemen," a high even voice announced, "I believe you have somezhing zhat belongs to us."

Mr. Customs spun around and spat, "Oh yeah, and what might that be?"

"Our keptin, sir."

There was a sudden rush of activity. Scotty was pulled to his feet and squeezed open two rapidly swelling eyes to stare into the face of a giddy but relieved Pavel Chekov. Looking around, he surveyed the damage. Bones had one goon in a headlock, his face pressed into the floor. The other one was also face down, Jim holding his arm in a turkey wing with a knee in his back. Glancing behind him, he found Mr. Customs in a chokehold, suspended a foot off the ground by a mildly annoyed looking Vulcan. Spock shot him a curious glance, "What would you like me to do with this man, sir?"

Scotty stumbled over, holding his side. "All I want is ta unload my damn ship. Where's yer boss?"

"I'm right here."

Another burly man entered the room, older, cleaner, hopefully wiser, and moved toward Scotty. "What seems to be the trouble here?" he asked.

Scotty glared for a minute before speaking. "I'm the captain of the cargo ship Ignatius. My crew and I want ta unload our shipment. These damn fools thought they'd rob us blind instead."

The man scanned his eyes over the motley crew before him. "What's the name of your ship?"

"The bloody Ignatius."

"I see. And you are?"

"Name's Martin Douglass," Scotty answered, the lie rolling easily off his tongue.

The man starred at him pensively before responding. "Fine, sir. You are free to unload." He held up his hand to silence his own angry men. "We'll leave you to it." He waddled out the door, the three would-be pirates trailing behind him.

Bones stomped toward Scotty in full on doctor mode. Pulling out his well-concealed tricorder, he quickly ran it over the groaning man before declaring, "Good job, Mr. _Douglass_! You have a concussion."

Scotty groaned, "Doesn't noise aggravate concussions?"

"Yer damn straight!"

"Then for tha love o God, shut the bleeding hell up!"

"Dammit, Bones, can the bitching. Can't you see his head hurts?"

"Look, farm boy…"

"Gentleman, it would be wise to vacate this venue."

"Yeah, the hobgoblin has a point. And you need to lie down."

"Och, all I did was crack my bloody head. I'm foin."

"Look, CAPTAIN, I might look like a street bum but technically I'm still a doctor and you will……."

The familiar banter carried as the five men headed across the tarmac.

*******************

Scotty reclined in an old lawnchair, idly watching his friends unload the Aberdeen. No, the Ignatius, or whatever it was called now. Bones had benched him and he had to admit he was enjoying this rare opportunity to watch the show. What do you get when you throw five of the brightest minds to ever navigate Starfleet at a common cargo ship? A hell of an efficient crew, that's what. Scotty was amazed at the speed and ease with which they were unloading the cumbersome shipment. It wasn't just the complex tractor beam pulley system they had engineered. It was the way they anticipated each other's moves, read each other's expressions and compensated without even thinking. Sometimes he wondered if the happy couple was contagious. It was like they were _all _reading each other's minds.

Taking a moment to examine his four crewmen, he couldn't help but chuckle. They looked like a bunch of roughnecks, even Spock, whose shaggy hair fell in waves around his ears. Scotty thought of his old crew sometimes. They'd served him for three years, shared hard work, shared hard drinks, but they were just friends. As he looked over the four men hefting another load from the cargo bay, he sighed but it was a sound of contentment. In the hierarchy of human need, these four took precedence. He'd traded in his friends to regain his brothers.

He shifted in his chair and groaned as pain shot through his head. Damn those animals. He couldn't stand thieves. Also, the boss man's questions made him nervous. He tried not to lapse into paranoia but any inquiries always put him on edge. He still caught himself looking over his shoulder, certain some unseen entity was giving chase.

He couldn't fault the guys. They did their best to maintain a low profile but nothing could stop their basic natures from rising to the surface. Sure, he was their captain, technically, but what was he supposed to do. Order Spock _not_ to insinuate himself into a local turf war, saving dozens of lives with his peaceful, logical sense of compromise? Tell Jim he _wasn't allowed_ to put his oratory powers to work and convince a local family to spare their child from a barbarous initiation into womanhood? _Forbid_ Bones from performing emergency surgery in the back room of a tavern, thereby saving a young man's leg? And Pavel, hell the damn kid was _still_ trying to get laid. No, this was who they were, why he loved them and such things just couldn't be restrained or changed. They'd just have to keep their fingers crossed.

He was no better himself, running around different ports, making all kinds of mechanical adjustments on ships. If anyone was paying close attention, they could easily find a link between the sudden influx of super efficient cargo vessels and the recent ports of call for the Ignatius. But he was honestly starting to think no one was looking. It had been a little more than a year since they fled Vulcan and nothing had happened. If anyone was after them, wouldn't they have made their move by now? Pavel had wiped the entire Aberdeen log clean and manufactured years of data for the Ignatius. They traveled under pseudonyms. Maybe it was enough.

He paused as something caught his eye. Jim and Pavel took off at run towards the side of the ship as Bones grabbed a line and anchored Spock. As Scotty watched, the Vulcan reached down just as the two humans jumped. Bones acted as the fulcrum, Spock grasped the humans' wrists and the three of the sailed cleanly back onto the roof of the ship. The move was perfectly timed and elegant in its execution and though Scotty had seen them do it numerous times before, he had never really considered its implications. This was the difference between them and his old crew; the total trust, the symbiotic instinct. A full year later, they were once again a cohesive team.

It hadn't been easy to achieve. He still shuddered to think about the maelstrom of anger, guilt, pity, and confusion that had nearly consumed them in the first two months. That many broken relationships in that small a place was just a recipe for trouble and trouble was what they got. First, there was he and Chekov's issues with Bones. Jim and the doctor appeared to be okay. In fact, Jim frequently confided in him regarding his tumultuous marital state. But Scotty, and by extension Pavel, had a lot of unresolved anger about the Enterprise and Bones had become the unwitting target. He'd born it with incredible patience, especially considering his cantankerous personality but his forbearance had eventually worn thin. It had exploded one night in the middle of a local bar and they'd been pulled off each other by the bouncers and tossed into jail for the night. Scotty had been reclining on the floor, nursing his bruised jaw, when he'd heard the doctor's voice from across the hall.

"I think it would be a good idea if I left the ship."

Scotty had rolled angry eyes, "Shut it. I ain't leavin ya in this hell hole."

"No, I don't want to stay here. Antoch has a good interplanetary travel system. We head there next. I'll get off then." Bones' voice was calm and unemotional.

Scotty rolled over and stared at the man in the cell across from him. Bones didn't look angry, only resigned. "Why now?" he asked.

"Look, I stayed because Jim asked me to. I didn't feel like I should but he said it was what he wanted and that I owed him. I _do_ owe him but I also owe him and everyone else a chance to get over this. You're pissed and you can't let it go but maybe you could if I wasn't always around. I'm telling you as a doctor that nothing good is going to come out of us constantly going at each other over this shit. I wish I could change what happened but I can't. I can only try to make the best of what's left and right now the best thing I can do for everyone is go away so that's what I'm going to do," he looked around, "but I agree that this isn't a good place. I'll get off at Antoch."

That had been the plan and at first Scotty had felt cruelly satisfied. Jim wasn't happy but wisely kept his mouth shut. Spock was also upset but he didn't get a vote. It was Chekov who'd finally confronted the incensed Scott and pointed out that he didn't want Bones to go.

"Och, whaday mean, he should stay? A man's got no honor if he betrays his own friends."

"Yes, Keptin, I know," Pavel took a deep breath, "but zhat is not who the doctor is. He is a man who vill risk himself to zave others. He is a man who doezn't care eef people like him az long as zhey are zafe and healzhy. Zhats who he vas on zhe ship and he is zhat vay now." Pavel sighed and took a seat, "I don't vant him to leafe. He zaved my life many times. He vaz a friend. And Mr. Spock vaz a friend who taught me many zhings. I just vant to forgive zhem, Keptin. But I zhink ve all need to have a talk and stop pretending zhat eweryzhing is fine."

"Look, I'm na gonna do some psychobabble emotional damn campfire."

"Well, then we should all just scatter to the four winds, cause this ain't working," came a voice from behind them.

Scotty and Pavel turned to find Jim leaning against the door. "Ah laddie, I dunno want to upset ya but I canna help how I feel. Ya think I dinna lose a lot through all this?"

"I know you did, Scotty. They know you did. That's why you all need to just yell at each other and get if off your chests. I did it with Bones and I REALLY did it with Spock, let me tell you. And they have their own resentments, not to you or anything but towards this situation."

"Oh, I'm sposed to feel sorry fer them?"

"No, but it would make things easier if we were all on the same page. Besides, I know you and for all you're pissed off, you don't actually want them to leave. But that means you're gonna have to talk to them. And you can do it. After all, Spock and I have the most problems and we're managing to work it out."

"Yeah, well there's a big difference, laddie. You two love each other."

"Oh, yeah! You actually want to look me in the eye and tell me you don't love them, Scotty! That's half the damn problem. If you didn't love them, they never would've been able to hurt you so bad. Don't try to bullshit me about this! I know it too well!"

Jim and Scotty were toe to toe, openly glaring, when a large crash interrupted them. They both looked over in shock at the little Russian who had driven his fist into the console, " Now you two listen. I am zick of zhis. Ve are all going to zit down and talk. Az first mate of zhis wessel, I order you, Mr. Spock and Dr. McCoy to attend. Az for you, Keptin, eef you von't participate, you can accept my resignation." And he had stomped off to inform the rest of the crew.

And so they'd found themselves sitting around the table in the rec room, avoiding each other's eyes until the angry Russian had produced a bottle of Vodka and made all the humans do two shots. He had volunteered to go first, explaining how devastated he had been when his mentor turned into a frightening, savage animal. How helpless he'd felt by his small stature and how ashamed he'd been when he had been unwilling to physically defend Jim.

Scotty had been reluctant to talk but when he started, he really got going. He railed at Bones for being a traitor and Spock for being less than a man. He told them how much he resented the destruction of his service record in Starfleet due to all his time in the brig. And then he'd thrown back another shot and finally admitted his own shame, that while he was very angry at the attack on his friend, he was equally furious at the loss of the Enterprise. He had put so much into the ship and it had become something dirty and uninhabitable for him. He mourned that loss terribly and was disgusted with himself for putting the loss of the ship on par with the loss of a friend.

Bones had been even more reticent. He'd needed two more shots and Jim's threat of spilling the story himself before he had consented to explain his alpha/beta theory to Scotty and Pavel. Spock had briefly opened his mouth to voice his agreement and Scotty had started to feel a little guilty towards the doctor. This whole situation was becoming more complicated and he had to admit that Pavel was right; Bones was not a man who threw over his friends. The doctor's explanation smacked of honesty and his pain and self-recrimination were obviously still cutting him to the quick. There was no need for Scotty to make it any worse.

"Keptin?"

Startled back to reality, Scotty almost fell over in his lawnchair. Pavel smirked for a moment before continuing. "Zhe ship ees empty. Jeem and I vere going to order us up zome dinner eef ve are done." At Scotty's nod, the Russian jogged back to the ship and gave a thumbs-up to the three men still lounging on the roof. They quickly dropped to the ground and headed towards the open side hatch, Pavel and the doctor engaged in some kind of jocular debate. Jim and Spock silently followed and Scotty's well trained eye caught the subtle brush of fingertips as they headed up the gangplank. They loved each other, he'd known that for years. It was a bond stronger than any mere marriage and he'd been forced to admit that separating them would've meant Jim's death as surely as Spock's. Pavel was right, they'd needed to learn to live with what happened, to find a way to put it behind them. But Scotty still shuttered to remember that final confrontation. He was sometimes surprised the five of them had come out of it alive.

Bones had been staring at the rec room table, studiously pretending he wasn't about to cry. Pavel wasn't even trying anymore and Jim was holding his head and looking decidedly punch drunk. Scotty had a cold knot in his stomach but also felt a profound sense of relief. He hadn't wanted Bones to leave the ship. In fact, he now realized just how badly he wanted the man to stay. Well, that only left one fly in the ointment. All four humans stared down the table at the introspective half-Vulcan who was currently fixating on his steepled fingers.

Scotty just didn't know what to do with him. He had considered Spock to be one of the finest people he'd ever met, human or otherwise. What he'd done to Jim was unbelievable but also completely out of character. His willingness to sacrifice himself for Jim's freedom and his voluntary acquiescence to a slow, painful death had done much to restore Scotty's faith in him. Yet, two months later, he still found himself with this irrational desire to lash out at Spock, to reach out and shake the man senseless. He wasn't sure why but recognized similar feelings in Bones, Pavel and even Jim. Outwardly, Spock was doing nothing to encourage such antagonism. In fact, he barely opened his mouth and spent the majority of his days blending into the bulkhead, kissing Jim's ass, or being at Scotty's beck and call.

They all realized that Spock viewed this as part of a life-long penance but in all honesty it was getting pretty tired. Spock, their Spock, had been driven, opinionated, confident, and strong. He had valiantly earned their respect, devotion and love. The weak-willed sycophant currently wearing his face only served to remind them all of what they'd lost. No, Scotty realized, he didn't care what he'd said about what the Vulcan might owe them. He didn't want this hyper-contrite shell on his ship. He wanted his friend back. Even more, he wanted his friend to _stop_ lying down and taking it from them. He, they all, needed Spock to fight back, make his case, and defend himself. And at this point, Scotty didn't care what he needed to do to make that happen.

Grasping the vodka bottle, he slid it hard down the table, heading right for Spock's face. He reluctantly caught it as Scotty ordered, "Here, have a drink."

Spock eyed the bottle. "Vulcans do not partake of alcohol as a rule."

"Yeah, well break the damn rule," interjected Bones, "And don't give me any of that crap about being immune."

Spock continued to hesitate and Scotty saw his chance. "So, ye've forgotton how ta listen? Do I need ta remind ya that I own yer ass? I say drink, you say how much, Captain."

Spock stared the bottle with resignation before reluctantly uncapping it. "How much, Captain?"

"Hell, let's start with one good chug. Then we'll see." Spock nodded, eyes still averted, and took a deep drink.

"That was good, laddie. Now another." The Vulcan closed his eyes but complied once again.

"Alright, Mr. Spock, it seems ya still know how ta listen. Once more, then." This time, Scotty could see a hint of fire in Spock's eyes. He took another gulp, setting the bottle down forcefully on the table and glaring at the four men. Scotty smiled inwardly. He was ready. "Now talk."

Spock eyebrow shot up, but not before Scotty caught the brief glint of fear that flashed across his face. "About what, Captain?"

"Och, Mr. Spock, don't play coy wi me! You're the damn root of all this. We deserve a bloody explanation!" Scotty paused, "Unless ya need another drink first!"

Spock pressed his lips together and stared at the table. Vulcans just didn't make public confessions. It violated their dignity, debased their pride and self-respect. But that was the price they demanded of him and he resolved that he would pay it. Gripping the edges of the table, he began. "You all heard the explanation I offered during the official hearing in front of Starfleet. You know what I stood accused of and what I confessed to. You also heard the reasons I offered for my behavior. It does not excuse anything but it is the best explanation I can give you."

"Why Jim."

"Excuse me?"

"Ya bloody well heard me! Why Jim?"

Spock glanced at his mate, seated at the table. Jim shrugged, "Go ahead and tell them."

Spock took a breath, "Jim is my t'hy'la. It is an ancient Vulcan word that would most directly be translated to mean soulmate in Standard. I targeted him because of that inherent connection."

Scotty digested this quickly and pushed on. "Oh, I see. So, are ya the only damn Vulcan to have a soulmate?"

"No, although it is considered rare."

"Alright then. Have another drink." This time there was no mistaking the raw emotion in the Vulcan's eyes. He stared at Scotty, hovering on the verge of an open challenge. The captain stared right back, not about to back down now. He tilted his head, a subtle reminder of who was in control and Spock grudgingly relented. Grabbing the vodka bottle, he took another healthy swallow. Scotty smiled before continuing in an innocent voice "So, Mr. Spock, tell me. Do all Vulcan's beat and rape their soulmates?"

Chekov and Bones exhaled loud breaths. Jim gawked at him in shock before shooting a helpless glance at his mate. Spock and Scotty never noticed, their gazes locked together in open hostility. Scotty leaned forward, his face a mask of feigned curiosity. "Well?"

Spock grimaced. "No!"

"Ah. Just you then?"

"I imagine so."

"Hmmmm. Well, I guess we canna blame yer father, then. Must've been yer mum's influence, ay."

The vodka bottle exploded into a million pieces, liquid and glass shards liberally spraying the five men. Green blood dripped from the clenched fist onto the rec room table and Bones leaped to his feet to staunch the wound. Spock pushed up and shoved him away, eyes shooting bolts of fire at the seated men. Turning, he strode to the back wall of the rec room, leaning his hands and forehead into the bulkhead. His shoulders tensed and he suddenly pulled back and slammed his fist into the wall. Skin split, knuckles crunched and blood flew as he hit the wall over and over. Cursing under his breath, Jim bolted to his feet and ran, catching the compromised Vulcan around the chest and capturing the wrist of his shattered hand. Bones, Scotty, and Pavel stood in complete silence as Jim whispered soothing words to his distraught mate. The two sank to the floor, Jim still holding Spock tightly as a choking sob emitted from his throat. Scotty tensed. It was a horrible sound, one he never wanted to hear again and he hoped it had been worth it. His was snapped back to attention by Spock's strangled voice. "You're right."

"What?"

"Vulcans do not do this. But you are also wrong. Humans do not do this, either. Vulcans behave rationally when they find their t'hy'la. They recognize their limitations and make the appropriate changes necessary. Humans react emotionally, seize the situation they are handed and find a way to bend it to their will. I, of course, am both and yet I succeed at being neither. I cannot reconcile myself, I cannot decisively choose a path for my life and so I am destined to be in a constant state of turmoil, destroying all those I care about."

Bones rubbed his head, "I don't mean to sound all touchy-feely right now but you're half drunk and actually expressing some emotions. Why don't you just go ahead and say what's on your mind. You're mad at yourself, I get that, but you've got other pent-up resentments. Get them off your chest."

"Doctor, must you always be so obtuse? For years, you have pestered me about feeling shame in regards to my so-called emotions. Did it ever occur to you that perhaps I was not ashamed of feelings in general but of mine in particular? The feelings I have are disgraceful."

"Okay. Go on."

Spock shuddered and for a moment Scotty was afraid he was going to hit the wall again. But Jim held him tightly and he settled back down on the floor. Shoulders sagging, he continued. "_Fine_, doctor!........ Lets, see. I am a child of two different worlds but I am also the child of two immensely intelligent beings. They met, they defied tradition, they married and they produced offspring. My mother often told me I was a miracle, that they didn't know if they could ever conceive. However, I find myself wondering if they were so concerned with whether or not they could that they overlooked a bigger problem; whether or not they even should! I am aware that they faced conflict from both of their respective cultures and know the difficulty of walking with one foot in two worlds, especially my mother. But I assure you, there is an enormous difference between living in two worlds and having both worlds warring inside your head!

My Vulcaness sent me into _pon farr_. My humanity made me fall in love with a woman that my Vulcan biology then rejected! My humanity made me want to seek out a solution that satisfied my emotional needs. My Vulcaness told me that the place to find the strength to do this was with my ancestors and then my human emotions overwhelmed me and allowed an invader into my mind!" He surged up again and this time Jim could not hold him. His hand met the wall again with a sickening crack and Scotty knew he had broken several bones. Jim and the doctor wrestled him back down and Bones took hold of his hand.

"Dammit, Spock! Your _Vulcan_ hands are too sensitive for this shit. Knock it off." He pulled the hand flat to align the fingers before crudely splinting it but Spock yanked it away. He wasn't finished.

"So, you see, gentlemen," he continued, his voice bitter and starting to slur, "I actually feel anger towards my parents, towards a mother who loved me right up until she died. Towards a father who tried to raise me to be a proper Vulcan after he deliberately made me improperly. For all their intelligence, where was their common sense? And so I am angry at my two halves, constantly shortchanging and working against each other. However, they still remain a part of me, so even though I feel torn apart by my very nature, the only one I can really blame is myself. Anything else would be……_illogical. _That means I will never truly find forgiveness or any real relief, but of course, that is what I deserve!" Spock made a half-hearted attempt to stand but was too woozy and unsteady on his feet. Collapsing back down on the deck, he allowed Jim to pull him back against his chest and smooth his hair, too drained to fight back. Jim turned to Scotty, eyes bright with anger and concern and silently mouthed, "ENOUGH!"

Silence hung in the air of the rec room as Bones patched Spock up. Finishing, he stood and said, "Look, we've had a trying night and have a lot to think about. My medical opinion is that we all sleep on it." They had nodded their agreement. Pavel had taken the first watch and the other four had slipped off to bed. The night had been painful but the morning had brought a profound sense of relief, a sense of a shared burden that was easier to carry. They reached Antoch and Bones did not leave the ship. He stayed and over the next few months, they'd learned to forgive, to let go and move on. Now, ten months later, it still wasn't perfect but it was getting close.

The plant's third sun finally dipped below the horizon. Scotty stretched, stood and grabbed his lawnchair. Speaking of perfect, Pavel had managed to replicate a pretty mean Crappit Heid, just like his mother used to make it. Smiling to himself, Scotty headed inside for dinner.

******************************

"Doctor, considering the difficulties we have experienced on this plant, it is ill advised for the three of you to leave this ship."

Bones turned away from the mirror and smirked at Spock, "Yeah, you would say that but then you've got a sure thing, don't ya. The rest of us actually have to go work at it to get laid."

Spock raised an eyebrow. Bones raised him one back. "Look, we've got our communicators and we'll stay together. And you two can….I don't know. Enjoy a quiet evening alone? Or whatever?" He smiled lasciviously as he headed towards the rec room where Pavel and Scotty sat waiting. Glancing at the Captain's bruised face, he ordered, "You're still a little concussed. Absolutely no drinking!" Scotty shot him a dirty look but nodded.

Spock grabbed a seat at the table, obvious apprehension still written on his face. Jim plopped down next to him, "What's with you?"

"I am concerned about their well-being. We did, in fact, have a rather serious altercation this afternoon with some people who appear to wield power in this particular port. I think it would be wise for us to maintain a low profile."

Jim grinned, "Spock, we've been in space for a month and it's another three weeks til our next port. Nothing short of death could keep them on board tonight. Besides, they know how to watch each other's backs." Spock still looked unconvinced. "Come one. Let me see if I can distract you."

***********************

The bar was loud and rough, just like Scotty liked them, but he kept his promise to the good doctor and stuck to water. Besides, he couldn't remember the last time he'd had sober sex and found the possibility a little intriguing. There were certainly plenty of options around him. Bones was already half lit and currently working his southern charm on a cute brunette and Chekov….well, where was the kid? Scanning the crowd, he finally located him, leaning against a wall and chatting with a tiny waitress who looked entirely out of her element in this dive. She looked at Chekov with blatant gratitude and as Scotty watched, her eyes glazed over in overt invitation. Scotty snorted. No wait, it couldn't be. But, yes….miracle of miracles, the pretty young thing had just dragged the hapless Russian out the back door!

Turning to apprise Bones of their young friend's sudden run of luck, Scotty noticed that the doctor was no longer flirting up the brunette. Instead, he was slumping over onto the bar, his head in his hands and his eyes bleary. Scotty couldn't believe it. It usually took way more than that to knock Bones out. He hopped off his stool to steady his friend but the floor suddenly tilted and he hit the ground. No, this couldn't be right! He hadn't drunk anything! A wave of nausea overcame him and his mind registered one brief seed of panic before it dissolved completely into darkness.

************************

_Jim sprawled on his back, eyes shut, mouth opened, hands digging into the sheets. He gasped as hot lips and a moist tongue circled his left nipple before kissing and licking their way down his chest. Hands dug sharply into his hips, holding him still as a nose nudged through his boxers at his straining erection. He bit his lip and emitted a low moan, rising up onto his elbows to stare into Spock's eyes and beg, "Please don't tease me!" _

_Spock's lips quirked into a wolfish grin. "It's your move, Jim."_

"_What?"_

"It's your move?"

Jim shook his head as his hot little fantasy dissolved around him. He found himself meeting Spock's eyes through the multiple levels of the ship's chess set. He sighed. This hadn't exactly been what he had in mind when he promised Spock distraction but any happy marriage involved compromise. Besides, the guys would be out late and they'd get to the good stuff later. He focused on the board, contemplating his next move, when Spock suddenly emitted a strange grunt. He looked up in time to see the Vulcan flop forward onto the table, a small, red dart protruding from his shoulder blade. He heard a low, dark chuckle from the rec room door and looked up into the eyes of the burly customs agent.

"Sweet dreams, lover boy." He chortled before shooting Jim right in the chest.


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. I was the MOH at my sister-in-law's wedding. Then the school year started and then I got waylaid by the mother of all computer viruses. But I'm back now to present you all with chapter twelve. Enjoy!**

**I don't own Star Trek!**

* * *

Ch. 12:

The first thought that permeated the haze when Leonard McCoy awoke was _What the FUCK_ _did I drink last night?_ Sure, it had been a wild bar but he was Leonard _friggen_ McCoy and it took more than your simple house liquor to knock him on _his_ ass. But on his ass he surely had been. He couldn't even remember the last time his head had felt this bad. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly against the muted light that shone in his cabin. Why, oh why had he left the light on? After all, hitting the lights before passing out was par for the course for any seasoned drinker. And why the hell was he lying on the deck? Was he actually so loaded that he'd managed to miss his bunk? No, it couldn't be. Scotty wasn't even drinking so that air of rivalry hadn't spurred him on. He _hadn't _drunk that much……….SHIT!

Groaning in pain, eyes still closed, Bones forced himself into a sitting position. He was a doctor, his sense of smell was exceptionally keen and right now his nose was telling him that he wasn't in his cabin on the Aberdeen. Memories surged through his mind; Spock catching sight of the burly dock workers grabbing Scotty, wrestling the one goon down to the floor, Spock's concerns and his own flippant response as they'd left the ship, a brief glance of one of the assailants as they entered the bar, his head feeling woozy after only three shots. Hmmmm. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he'd been drugged and given his current surroundings, he'd also bet that he'd been kidnapped. Of course, confirmation of these theories would have to wait until he'd actually managed to open his eyes. He valiantly repeated the attempt but the dim lights still managed to send lightning bolts through his brain.

Temporarily at a loss, Bones buried his face in his arms and rested them on his knees. Ahhh, sweet darkness. Far off in the distance, he could barely make out the sound of voices gradually coming closer. He heard a metallic screetch and then a loud, unpleasant voice said, "Damn, one of 'em's awake again."

Another voice growled, "Not the Vulcan again. We can't give him much more without killing him!"

"No, it's the doctor this time."

"Oh, well, hit him with a second dose."

"Why bother? He isn't a threat."

"Oh, no? As I remember it, he was the one who made you kiss the floor earlier!"

"Fuck you."

Bones could hear them monkeying with some kind of mechanism and skittered to the left. He tried to force his eyes open but all he could see was a dim blur. He nearly screamed as his hand came into contact with something warm and soft.

"Don't freak out, doc. It's just your captain." The statement was punctuated with a harsh chuckle and more fiddling with equipment. Catching his breath, Bones managed to located Scotty's wrist by touch and checked his pulse. It was slightly elevated but steady. Forcing himself to relax, Bones turned his attention back to the two voices.

"Look, we're still missing one. That'll affect the price."

"Yeah, I'm aware, thanks. But we ain't waiting for one little Russian kid. We managed to bag the Vulcan, the pretty boy and the doc. We even got their ship captain. They were the big ones. The kid was always the least important." Something clicked and the man let out a satisfied grunt, "Besides, they already managed to hand you guys your asses the last time you messed with them. We ain't gonna hang around and give them the chance to do it again."

Bones quickly contemplated this little speech. So, the asshole custom's brigade had apparently grabbed him, Scotty, Jim and Spock. They didn't have Pavel though and that was good news. But what were these galoots planning on doing with them? Bones was roused from his musings by another ugly chuckle, "I can see what you're thinking, doc," said one of the men. "Don't worry, you'll have all of your answers soon enough. I doubt you'll like em but you'll have em. In the meantime, though, it's time to go back to sleep."

Bones heard a small ping and felt a sharp pain and a tingling warmth began to blossom in his shoulder. He pulled out a small projectile and let it clatter to the floor. "What the fu…..," he mused but the thought was already sludgy. His mind darkened and he dropped back into unconsciousness.

******************

Upon waking, Pavel Chekov's first conscious thoughts were that he had died and gone to heaven. He stretched languidly on the narrow cot in the small back room of the tavern before quickly glancing around at his surroundings. The room was dark and empty, Nenna, _wait, was that her name_, yes, Nenna had gone back downstairs to the bar. Pavel smiled into the darkness. So that was what the captain and the good doctor were always crowing about! And twice! "Not bad for a first time," he considered inwardly. Thank god she'd also been a virgin.

Pavel tried to reach his chronomotor but couldn't seem to find anything in the darkness. No matter, he had to get dressed and get out of there. The guys would be looking for him. He wasn't looking forward to the endless joshing they were going to give him about this but he couldn't avoid them any longer. They needed to keep an eye on each other tonight. He stumbled around blindly until he located all articles of clothing. Slipping his feet into his unlaced boots and pulling on his heavy tunic, he strode out the door and back into the tavern's main hall.

A quick glance around the room revealed neither Scotty nor Bones. Pavel smiled. If they too had found some female companionship then maybe they'd be less inclined to tease him. He quickly began to skirt the room's periphery, scanning the crowd for his shipmates. Two complete passes failed to reveal their location and Pavel began to feel the slightest niggling of concern. He branched out, checking the little back rooms, the darkened corners and alleys where two roughneck cargo shippers might sneak away for a little alone time with the right company. But an hour of intense searching turned up nothing.

Pavel's concern was rapidly going from minor to full-blown. Where the hell were they? He had crewed with these men in various capacities for over ten years and if there was one thing he knew, it was that Bones and Scotty would never, _never_ leave him alone in a strange bar on a hostile planet. It didn't matter how drunk or frustrated they were. But if that were the case, why couldn't he find them?

Temporarily at a loss, Pavel plopped himself down at a small table and considered the situation. Now that the bliss was dissipating from his brain, he began to realize that he had a really bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't just sit here, he had to do something. The Aberdeen, er, em, the Ignati…..oh hell, the ship, the ship! Spock and Jim were both on the ship. He had to get one of them. Resolved, Pavel stood and headed towards the door. He didn't relish breaking in on the happy couple's date night but they'd understand. He'd just make sure he made a lot of noise when he boarded.

Once he hit the deck of the Aberdeen, it took Pavel less than a minute to realize that something was wrong. First, the gangplank had been unsecured. He could see himself, Bones, even Jim possibly forgetting to lock up but not Scotty and definitely not Spock. There was absolute silence on the ship and yet every light was on, an unnecessary drain of power that the efficiency minded former Fleet members would never indulge. But the icing on the cake lay on the rec room table. The old, slightly battered 3-D chess set was sitting abandoned under the lights, a lonely knight lying forgotten on the table. Spock and Jim must've been engaged in a game. Well, okay, it was easy to suspect that they had just gotten caught up and abandoned the game in favor or more enjoyable and private pursuits but Pavel had known both of them for way too long and one thing was certain; Spock and Jim Kirk _never_ left a game of chess unfinished. It went completely against their naturally competitive natures. He could feel himself starting to panic as he ran down the passageway towards the crew cabins. He didn't even bother signaling, just hit the button and ran into the small room. It was completely empty, the bed neatly made. Pivoting on his heel, he ran through the rest of the ship, scanning as he went. There was no one aboard.

Pavel took a minute to grab an extra phaser before taking a seat in the command chair. A part of him wanted to run back to the tavern and double check but he knew it would be fruitless. Someone had taken his shipmates, he was sure of it. It was an eventuality they had been outrunning, in one stage or another, for over four years. Quickly, Pavel ran back over the events of the day, his mind settling on the customs agents. Perfect hindsight made him reconsider their strange behavior. Why would they take the risk of ripping off such a small and unobstrusive ship? There were so many richer holdings coming in and out of port on a daily basis. Unless, of course, the real prize wasn't the ship but the ship's crew. Pavel could only speculate how much money a bunch of pissed off Vulcan council members might be willing to shell out to get their hands on their wayward son and his band of merry men.

Frustrated, Pavel jumped to his feet. Speculation was only going to get him so far. If he wanted answers, he had to go to the customs house and take a look around. For all he knew, the guys were all being held in the small room where they'd found Scotty. Grabbing both phasers and a long butterfly knife, he headed out across the tarmac.

The building was completely dark and he didn't dare create any additional light. He gave his eyes a moment to adjust and then crept along in the weak light, stepping lightly to avoid making any sound. The building seemed empty and he retraced their steps from earlier, quickly locating the storage room. It was empty and dark. Feeling more than a little put out, Pavel stopped to regroup when he spotted a light from under the crack in a door to the left. Phaser at the ready, he quietly pushed the door open. Dammit, this room was also empty, save for a long worktable and old fashioned peg board covered with printouts and holos. Pavel was about to back track when something on the peg board caught his attention. It couldn't be! He stepped closer, squinting his eyes. No, he hadn't been wrong. Staring back at him was his own Starfleet enlistment portrait. They were all there, Bones, Spock, Jim, Scotty, even Uhura. The pictures had been altered with some fairly spot-on age manipulation software and the pictures looking back at him were near perfect images of his missing crewmates. Snapping out of his momentary hypnosis, Pavel began sifting through the paperwork on the table. Reward money! The damn Vulcans really weren't gonna let this go, were they?

Pushing the other paperwork aside, Pavel's eyes finally alighted on a ship manifest and course plotting. The Suneptra was set to depart this port and rendezvous with the Genovese at the Orm Pithe spacedock. Pavel recognized both those ships. The Suneptra had been docked near the customs house and could easily have been those damn bruisers' ship. The Genovese was a completely different story, though. In this rough and tumble area of space, where half the population was on the run from someone, everyone was aware of the Genovese and its crew of ruthless bounty hunters.

With a sick, twisting feeling in his gut, Pavel sank to the ground. Dammit, he didn't know what to do. He wasn't the big hero. They were the ones who always saved the day. He was just along for the ride, needing saving himself as often as not.

Well, shit! Hadn't they saved him enough? He couldn't even begin to count the number of times he'd been pulled out or patched up by one of those four. He owed it to them to do something now. He took two steps and glanced out the window. Sure enough, the Suneptra was gone. He had lost track of Scotty one hundred and fifty-six minutes prior. He had to get the ship launched and set in a course for Orm Pithe. Only one problem. The damn Aberdeen needed a minimum crew of two. Groaning, Pavel ran through his options. Suddenly, his eyes lit up with epiphany. She'd said she'd do anything to get off this rock, right? Maybe it was time to offer her the chance. With a determined stride, Pavel set off towards the tavern to find Nenna, the formerly virginal waitress.

***********************

"Hey, careful, would ya?"

"SORRY!!"

Scotty and Bones shot daggers at each other with their eyes. The cell was small, too small for so many grown men to be pacing nervously with their thoughts. They were bound to bump into each other and with tensions running this high, it could only lead to confrontation. Scotty sighed. His crew wasn't the enemy, they weren't the ones at fault here. In his heart he knew this but his head was swimming with hypothetical _what ifs_. What if they had stayed on the damn ship that night? What if they had all done a better job of suppressing their natural tendencies and staying incognito? What if Spock had never started this whole damn mess? Scotty clamped down on those thoughts. No, He wasn't going down that road again. They had left that all behind. Besides, Spock had been driven by instinct, hormones and raw emotion. What Starfleet and the Vulcan Council were up to was cold, calculating and downright self-serving. Why the hell couldn't they just leave them alone?

Sighing, Scotty smiled weakly at the frustrated doctor. "S'alright. Isna you, anyway. I'm just pissed that we got caught."

Bones looked slightly confused, "Caught? By who?"

Scotty shot a confused look at Jim, seated against the wall, "By whoe'er has us locked up here, doctor. Last I checked, this wasna our ship."

"Yeah, but those are just the guys from Customs. We pissed them of and now they're gonna get their revenge, right." Bones sounded confident but his expression made it clear he was trying to fool himself, "We don't have a single damn reason to suspect anything else." He glared at the other's, daring them to argue.

The captain met the doctor with a perplexed expression, "Bones, they clearly know who we are. Ya heard what they called ya."

Bones shook his head stubbornly, "Sure, they called me doctor, so they must've been watching us." His voice contained a hint of hope.

Jim shook his head, "No, Bones, its more than that. They called me lover boy."

Bones looked confused, "You find that offensive or something?"

Jim rolled his eyes, "Get clued in, will you? They know you're a doctor and they know about Spock and me. They know _who_ we are, Bones. This isn't just some petty revenge cause we kicked their asses and didn't let them steal our stuff. They caught us on purpose, which means someone was looking for us." When Bones' expression turned mulish, Jim continued, "Look, when they busted into the ship, Spock and I were playing chess. We haven't done a single thing since we landed on that damn planet to insinuate that we are anything more than good buddies and crewmates. And yet somehow they know about us. Don't fool yourself, Bones. They know who we are."

A look of resignation washed over the doctor's face, "Yeah, I know, Jim. I'm just trying to live in denial for a little bit." He sighed, "You know, a part of me always knew this would happen. I guess another part just kinda believed we were invincible."

Jim and Scotty smiled. "Yeah, I know what ya mean," chirped the Scotsman, "We're all so damned used ta pulling miracles out of our arses that we began ta take it fer granted." He paused, "So….what'll they do ta us?" All three men turned in unison towards their Vulcan crewmate, attempting meditation in the far corner. Perhaps sensing their eyes on him, he looked up and cocked his head.

"No use?" Jim asked.

Spock nodded, suppressing a shiver from the chilly cabin. "I cannot achieve my basic levels. I shall attempt again later, when everything is not so tentative." He rose and joined the three men, completing the circle in the middle of the cabin. "To address your concerns, I think it is safe to assume that the forces behind our abduction are Vulcan. Starfleet and the Federation simply don't have as much vested in us. To them we are at most an annoyance and embarrassment. The Vulcan High Council, however, sees us as much more. I am a traitor, disloyal to the traditions of my people. The result of my disloyalty is that each of you now possess much more knowledge of the inner workings of Vulcan society and customs than the Council would allow. I am an instigator, you, Jim, are a moral dilemma, and you two are fall-out," He gestured towards Scotty and Bones. "The Council will want this cleared up. They will kill us. I also believe they wish to make something of an example of me, albeit a quiet one. They are probably most put out that I didn't die in the _plak tow_." He scanned the three human faces, "That is my assessment of the situation, gentlemen."

The humans nodded stoically. "So now what da we do," mused Scotty.

Spock shrugged, much to Jim and Bones' amusement. "We wait, Captain, and hope some sort of opportunity presents itself."

As if on cue, the door to the cell wrenched open with an ear-splitting screech. Mr. Customs stuck his head in, a large phaser in his hand. "Okay, boys, time to go. I don't want any trouble. If anyone of you tries anything, I'll stun you all and you can get carried to your next stop." He waved the phaser meaningfully.

Four sets of eyes met briefly in mute discussion. "Look for the opportunity," the eyes said. But the hall they entered was narrow and dark. There were no doorways or shafts to take advantage of. The customs agent was at their back, navigating them down the long corridor. Bones, in the lead, rounded a bend in the passage and his eyes fell on six large forms, dressed in thermal gear. The bodies were humanoid in shape but all skin was covered by suits, gloves, or masks. It was impossible to identify the species but judging by their size, they were neither human nor Vulcan. Two of the creatures brandished large phasers, which they held lightly across their chests. A third, unarmed figure stepped forward and spoke harshly. "There are only four. Where is the fifth?" His voice managed to be both monotone and threatening.

Mr. Customs took an anxious breath, a small bead of nervous sweat running down his face, "The fifth gave us the slip." The monotone figure made an ugly sound in his throat and he quickly stammered. "It's only the little Russian. According to our info, these four were the most important because they were the ranking officers. The other one hardly mattered." He was breathing heavily now and his voice had taken on a decidedly pleading timber.

The enshrouded figure cocked his head, betraying annoyance. "It's true that Starfleet was most interested in the recovery of these four but we are not doing business with Starfleet. Our clients wanted all members of the crew of the cargo ship Aberdeen. You promised to deliver all five crew. You failed. I will now exact payment for that failure."

It would've seemed unlikely that a figure of that size could move with such speed and dexterity. Bones barely saw the creature blur past him but all of the sudden the customs agent was pinned against the bulkhead. The creature withdrew a laser scalpel and without hesitation cut the ring finger off Mr. Customs' right hand. Hefting the finger, the creature placed it in a pocket before leaning close to his victim's heaving, gasping face, "Please be sure to convey to all your associates what happens when someone lies to the Genovese," he stated in the same bored voice.

The customs agent sank to the ground. Bones, his medical instincts overriding his good sense, made a move towards the man but was firmly arrested by Spock and Scotty's hands on his shoulders. Nudged by the armed, shrouded figures, they steered him around towards the ship's ancient looking transporter. Bones groaned audibly but allowed himself to be herded onto the platform along with his crewmates. He heard the familiar whirring sound for a second before his molecules detached.

They materialized in the ninth circle of Hell. Yes, it had to be the ninth circle, if Bones remembered his Dante correctly, because that was the circle of ice. Jesus H. Dammit, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been so cold! The dark, slightly moist air seemed to penetrate his muscles, causing a cramped, nauseous sensation to spread across his torso and back. It hurt like hell and he imagined it had to be twice as bad for Spock, who had a higher body temperature. He tried to locate the hobgoblin in the inky darkness but he was suddenly seized by strong hands and propelled forward. His feet barely touched the ground as he glided down an invisible corridor. He heard a door slide open and found himself being pitched forward into a dimly lit cell. Jim, Spock, and Scotty landed ingloriously in succession right behind him and the door swung shut. He heard the distinct hiss and snap of an engaging locking mechanism. Groaning, he pulled himself into a sitting position and caught Jim's eyes. The young human looked distinctly perturbed as he looked at the doctor. "Did you hear that?" he asked. "The Genovese!" Bones didn't answer. He didn't have to. They all knew what that single word meant.

In the corridor, a swell of conversation could barely be heard. Bones couldn't make out words but the tone of the discussion seemed heated. With another loud wrench, the door to the cell swung back open and one of the cloaked figures walked in. "One of you is a doctor?" he asked.

Bones stood, ignoring the look Scotty shot him. "I am."

The cloaked figure appraised him for a moment. "Yes, and you are also a friend, if I understand the word correctly," He walked out of the cell for a moment, yelling something in an unfamiliar language, leaving Bones to mull over the cryptic statement. _A friend?_ His thoughts were cut short as the several of the cloaked figures re-entered the cell, bearing a bulky object wrapped awkwardly in grey clothe. The leader gestured towards the object and said to Bones, "Here, take it. Do what you can."

Bones hesitated. Behind him, he could feel trepidation leaking off of Jim and Scotty. The cloaked figures made impatient sounds and one of them thrust the wrapped burden in Bones general direction. The package shifted and Bones nearly gasped as a slender, caramel colored calf and foot slid out of the material and dangled weakly in the air. Sucking in a breath, Bones lept forward and seized the bundle from the figures, who quickly retreated and slammed the door. None of the men even noticed as they quickly cleared a space and helped the doctor lower the heavy material to the floor. Bones began tearing over it, looking for the beginning or end of the tightly wound clothe. Jim grabbed at the ankle, running his finger along the inside seam. "She's still got a pulse, Bones, but it's thready."

Bones thought he might scream. Where the hell was the opening in this damn sheet? She couldn't breathe! "Nyota,", he yelled, tearing ineffectually at the fabric, "Spock."

Momentarily lulled into a shocked stupor, the Vulcan came alive at the sound of his name. Taking two steps, he sank to his knees and tore through layers of material exposing the face of their former communications officer. Her skin was ashen and her eyes rolled dully back in her head as Bones and Spock stripped off the remainder of the restrictive wrapping. Her clothing was tattered and her skin cold but Bones noticed no obvious signs of trama until he reached her lower abdomen. All four men gasped as they took in the bloody streaks covering her stomach and legs. "Jesus," moaned Bones, "No, no." He gently probed at the injured area, "Okay, Spock. Tear me off some of that clothe," The Vulcan quickly obliged, "Thanks, now all three of you get back and let me work here." He turned away, using his body to shield the shivering woman.

Scotty, Spock and Jim turned and faced the wall. Spock's hand shot out and clung to Jim's, his mind awash with seething and conflicting emotions. The woman he'd loved, the catalyst to this whole damn mess, was suddenly thrust back into their lives in this most heinous fashion! His heart rate soared and rage threatened to overwhelm him. What had been done to her? Feeling Spock's distress, Jim tried to send him comfort through their bond but his own emotions were chaotic and unhinged. Fear, rage, compassion. He still hadn't forgiven Nyota. She was the one person whose culpability he still hung on to. Coupled with that, though, was a protectiveness he recognized as a holdover from their former roles as captain and officer. How dare some hurt a member of his crew! Feeling the rising tension, Jim clamped down hard on his roiling emotions. He was supposed to be calming Spock down. The last thing they needed right now was an emotionally compromised Vulcan on a rampage.

Behind him, he heard Bones exhale. "Okay, I've staunched the bleeding but she's still dehydrated and hypothermic. I've gotta warm her up or she's going to go into shock." Jim turned in time to see Bones pull a rewrapped Nyota into his arms. He carefully pulled her inside his own shirt and jacket, pressing her against his bare skin. Looking at Scotty, he said, "I don't mean to create an awkward situation here but she needs body heat fast. Can you press into her other side?" Scotty didn't even waver, just curled over Nyota's body, resting his head rather awkwardly against Bones shoulder. Jim considered the situation. "What can I do?" he asked.

Bones gestured with his chin. "You can concentrate on keeping him warm," He indicated Spock, who was leaning against the far wall. "Right now, his emotional surge is keeping his temperature elevated but it will fade and then he's gonna be hit hard by this cold. Cuddle up now, skin on skin, and try to trap as much of the excess body heat as you can. We need to stave off hypothermia for as long as possible."

Jim nodded and gently dragged Spock down towards the floor with him. Maneuvering their clothing a little, he rebuttoned the fronts of their shirts together, creating a miniature cocoon that allowed them skin to skin contact without losing a layer of protection. The Vulcan seethed inwardly but acquiesced as Jim carefully wrapped their coats around their bodies and up over their heads to trap body heat. It felt stiflingly hot right now but he knew it wouldn't be long before the terrible cold began to take its affect. Glancing across the room at the three figures huddled together on the floor he asked hesitantly, "Bones……was she…..raped?"

The doctor shut his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he seemed very far away. "No, Jim, I don't think so." He paused and sighed before continuing, "She was pregnant, Jim. She, um, just lost the baby, probably within the last six hours." Reaching down, he ran a hand protectively over Nyota's drawn and unresponsive face.

Jim sucked in a breath, feeling like he'd been punched in the gut. Next to him, Spock tensed as well. It seemed that for the former crew of the USS Enterprise, Karma was an equal opportunity bitch.

*****************


	14. Chapter 13

**A/N: **So happy to be posting this chapter. I had a severe case of writer's block but finally, finally, chapter thirteen is done. I imagine this story will have one more big chapter followed by and epilogue. It might take a while, what with school being in session now and all, but this story will be completed. I have made myself swear that I won't start my next story until this one is done. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I should be so lucky

* * *

Ch. 13:

"Warning, Warning, core overload!!!! Warning, Warning!!!!!!!

SHIT!

Pavel Chekov kicked off the bulkhead, propelling himself out from under the command console, and leaped to his feet. Determindly reaching over a frustrated Nenna, he began keying away at the buttons, frantically inputting override codes. The emergency lights ceased their flashing and he sunk down in a relieved heap in the command chair. Gritting his teeth, he shot a murderous look at the young women seated beside him. She glared back in an equal state of pique.

"What?!"

"Vhat do you mean, vhat? Ve could have lost our main power grid!"

Nenna inhaled deeply and gathered herself together, "Pavel, I will once again remind you that I have never been in space before. I don't know how to fly a ship. I don't know how to implement repairs. I am trying to learn by experience and minimal instruction but I don't know what the HELL I'm doing. And let's not forget that I'm doing all of this to save your friends' asses." She sat back in her chair and glared.

Chekov pressed a finger firmly between his eyes, desperate to stave off his encroaching headache. What could he say? She was right, after all. True, he had given her an opportunity to flee a poor life on a planet she despised but he had also intentionally dragged her onto an unknown and dangerous path. And she was trying, and doing a damn good job if he wanted to be honest. The girl was actually a pretty quick study. No, he was the one with the problems. His tension in the face of responsibility coupled with his almost overwhelming fear and concern for his friends was weighing heavily on him and he was lashing out at the only person available. It wasn't fair and it had to stop. After all, the situation was likely to get even worse and he would need Nenna's help for an even more dangerous mission if they were ever going to rescue the other guys.

Chekov was not a man who handled inaction gracefully. After all, he hadn't really had a moment to sit down and take a break since he was seventeen. The patience and control necessary to affectively trail a ship, assess it for weaknesses and wait for the best moment to strike were disciplines that he had just never needed to develop. He sighed, once again comparing himself unfavorably to his crewmates. Spock and Jim excelled at this sort of game. Scotty and the doctor possessed the delicate sensibilities necessary to perform complex surgical procedures on man and machine. His own role aboard ship, navigation and munitions, were much more immediate and……but his was hardly the time or the place! Chekov sighed. He had to stop this doubt and self-recrimination because whether he liked it or not, he was the one who was going to have to pull off this particular Hail Mary.

Well, at least he had some experience with stealth, subterfuge, and insane rescue missions. And he hadn't worked under Jim and Scotty for all those years without learning quite a few tricks. It hadn't been difficult for him to use his expert navigational skills to plot a short route to Orm Pithe, which allowed the Aberdeen and it uber-efficient warp core to beat the Suneptra into the spaceport's orbit. It had been even easier to locate the Genovese since a ship that feared saw no reason to hide. After that, the waiting had begun as he and Nenna sat back and observed the rendezvous when the Suneptra came into orbit. They had been tailing the Genovese ever since, assessing and waiting for some kind of opening.

Not that they really knew what they were looking for. After all, he knew nothing about the crew or layout of the enemy ship. He wasn't sure about their firepower or beaming capabilities. In fact, he wasn't even a hundred percent sure that his friends were on the ship. The Genovese's computers had proven impossible to access, giving him no way to check for sure. The young man found the lack of hard data almost crippling to his decision making processes and turned instead to a surrogate means of strategizing: Jim. In any given situation, what would Jim do? After all, this was the nature of captaincy aboard a starship, right? Making difficult decisions with the best intel possible? He, Pavel Chekov, was at a loss regarding the circumstances in which he found himself but he knew enough to channel Jim Kirk, a man who would've dived right into the fray.

Gritting his teeth determinedly, Pavel Chekov decided to get into the action. Jim would've seized the small quantity of intelligence and forged the best plan possible based on what he knew. Sooooo, what information could Pavel list for sure? He knew that a bounty had been placed on the heads of the former Enterprise crew. He knew his four friends had been kidnapped and were most likely on the Genovese. He knew that the Aberdeen's beaming capabilities were limited to small loads of living matter and could handle at the most three men at one time. Chekov considered this carefully, cognizant of the limitations this placed on any rescue. Whatever he did, he would need the time to stage two different transports.

As for the Genovese, he knew it was a feared ship with a fearsome crew of unknown origin. A crew that feared would put stock in its formidable reputation but might also grow complacent. A small blitz attack by one innocuous human might actually work because of its sheer brazenness! Pavel rubbed the bridge of his nose, considering the plan. From what he could determine, it was the best bet. He could teach Nenna how to run the transporter and they could carefully close in on the Genovese until they were within beaming distance. Nenna could transport him to the rear of the other ship, where holding cells were most often kept and he could sneak around until he found his crewmates. They could beam back in two parties and warp off, relying on the Aberdeen's superior capabilities to get them far away. On that Pavel could at least rely. If he got them back to this ship, there was no way they would get caught.

Pavel sighed and let his head fall back in resignation. He couldn't just sit around and wait for some moment of perfect opportunity that would likely never come. This plan was insane and almost guaranteed to go wrong but it really was the best he could do with what he had to work with. A thought crossed his mind and he chuckled to himself. If Jim and Spock had dreamed this up, he would've jumped on the plan with utmost confidence. Such was his faith in his former COs. Not for the first time, Pavel found himself re-evaluating some of the crazy schemes they'd pulled off over the years.

Well, if they could do it, so could he. He had as good a chance as any, he supposed, having studied and served under some of the universe's most brilliant lunatics. And he had Nenna to help, who was proving her abilities. She wasn't Hikaru, and god how Pavel missed that man, but she had a quick and competent mind that was certainly wasting away in a backwater bar. They might just be able to pull this off.

Leaning forward, he perused the ship's navigational system. If the Genovese continued on its present course, it would come within beaming distance of a port in three days. In case he didn't make it, Nenna could beam herself to the port and abandon the ship in space. That gave him less than seventy-two hours to get her proficient in running the transporter. There was no time to waste.

Turning to the young woman still seated beside him, he smiled.

"Tell me vhat you zhink of _zhis_ plan."

* * *

The shivering had started almost ten hours ago, give or take a little. In his normal state, Spock could've provided a to-the-second breakdown of their time in lock-up but his internal chronomotor was one of the first things affected by his rapid descent into hypothermia. Nyota hadn't faired any better; her lack of appropriate clothing had coupled with blood loss to hasten the inevitable. Their steady little convulsions had practically synchronized at this point and Scotty grimaced as he pressed the shuddering forms of his former crewmates more firmly into his sides and held onto them for dear life.

At his sudden movement, Bones' head suddenly popped up on the other side of Nyota, his eyes locking on Scotty's in a silent conversation. It was getting to be about that time again. Scotty's eyes drifted over to the other side of the small cell, where their day's rations lay. In a moment, he would have to break out of the protective little cocoon that was comprised of himself and his crewmates and start re-creating Bones plan of action. It was difficult and painful but it had kept them all alive so far. Besides, one didn't argue with a brilliant medical mind in the middle of life-or-death situations. Turning his head, he saw Spock lolling on his shoulder and grunted at Jim, who lifted his head up from where it was cradled in the crook of the Vulcan's neck. This was another part of Bones' plan. Maintain as much skin to skin contact as possible, keeping everything else covered up. Scotty motioned with his chin and asked, "Are you ready?"

Jim nodded and looked over at Bones. "Alright," said the good doctor, shifting slightly to get an arm under Nyota's leg, "On three. One……Two………"

At the signal, Bones grasped Nyota and Jim steadied Spock as Scotty fumbled awkwardly out of his place in the middle of the pile. Spinning around, he grasped the hips of the two shivering forms as Bones and Jim shoved from both sides, pushing them all together. Without wasting a second or a joule of heat, Bones and Jim formed a bear hug around their two freezing crew mates. Scotty stood and stretched his aching limbs and headed to the food. Behind him, Bones growled slightly, warning him to hurry. Everything needed to done with maximum speed and efficiency if they were going to prolong their chances of survival. Scotty grimaced but quickened his step, crouching down by the food supply and picking up the ration Bones had allotted for this feeding. Smaller meals spaced out over the day, he had said, would help the body maintain a temperature, and maintenance used less energy than replacement.

Grabbing the thermos, Scotty walked over and sank into a crouch in front of the four huddled figures. The container kept the water at a reasonable temperature, thank God for small favors, but they still had to be careful not to spill it on themselves. Getting wet in this frigid environment would surely be the beginning of the end. With this in mind, Scotty carefully undid the cap and held it up to Jim's mouth as the human remained pressed solidly against the Vulcan's left side. He then repeated the action with Bones, who never took his hands off Nyota. Shaking out his own hands for a second to try to ease the tremors, Scotty looked down at Jim and said, "Okay, les do this," and carefully slid an arm around Spock's shoulders. Jim grasped his disoriented mate by the chin and gently shook him, "Spock, Spock, you have to open your eyes. It's time for more water!" The Vulcan shuddered but forced his eyes open, pupils fixed, as Scotty carefully placed the canteen at his lips. Spock gulped as delicately as possible and Jim quickly caught the rivulets that ran down his face. Satisfied that he had gotten enough, Scotty turned to the second, more difficult patient.

Nyota's eyes were open, for all the good that seemed to be doing. There was a distant, glazed quality about them, like looking into the death stare of a corpse. Bones had examined her and staunched the bleeding, warmed her, hydrated her, attempted to get through to her but she remained in a nearly catatonic state, unresponsive to anything but reflexive stimuli. Try as he might, Bones couldn't get her to talk, eat, or even move, although he could find nothing physically wrong with her to cause her symptoms. Ultimately, he determined, this was a mental injury, this final bit of emotional trauma demolishing her coping mechanisms. As a result Nyota had gone far away inside herself and none of them could bring her back. Initially, Jim had proposed a mind meld but Bones had smacked him upside the head and reminded him that even if Spock had been in any shape to perform one, Nyota's inability to handle them was the root of all their current problems. They would have to reach her some other way and so far they'd been unsuccessful.

Bones cradled her shoulders and gently tipped back her head, prying her lips open with a thumb as Scotty cupped one hand under her chin and poured a slow stream of water into her waiting mouth. Setting the canteen aside, he slowly massaged her throat, simulating the swallowing action Nyota couldn't, or wouldn't perform on her own. They repeated this twice more until Bones was satisfied that she had gotten enough.

The food process was similar except when it came to Nyota. They'd tried smaller and smaller pieces but no matter what, they couldn't get her to swallow any kind of solid sustenance. Bones was trying to keep his composure but between blood loss and body temperature, he knew she wouldn't last long. Frustrated by yet another failed attempt, Scotty returned the supplies to their place on the wall and began the final part of the routine, a series of sit-ups and jumping jacks designed to rev up his body temperature. Hot from his exertion, he quickly slipped back in between Spock and Uhura, pulling them close and wrapping his coat over the top of them. Jim and Bones pressed in from the sides and they all settled in, resigned to wait until their next feeding when the silence was broken by a frustrated voice.

"Bones?!"

Bones jumped, startled by the sound, "What, Jim?"

"What the hell is wrong with her? Why won't she talk?"

The doctor exhaled roughly, "Jim, we've been over this. I don't know, for cryin out loud. I'm a doctor, not a damn mind reader and she hasn't exactly offered up an explanation."

Jim shot him a dark glare, "Okay, _doctor_, what's your professional opinion?"

Bones closed his eyes and let his head rest against the cell wall for a moment. "If I had to guess, I'd say it's stress induced catatonia. The human mind and body has breaking points. This type of behavior is usually a last ditch defense mechanism when a person just can't take any more. I figure her imprisonment, followed by the loss of a child we all know she probably wanted very badly, caused her to retreat to this state. I'm guessing, of course, but it seems pretty reasonable to me."

Silence reigned again for a moment. "Bones?"

"Yes, Jim."

"Why can't you fix her?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, dammit. You can fix anyone. I've _seen_ you fix anyone. Why the hell can't you fix her?"

The look Bones shot him could've frozen fire. "Exactly what the hell are you getting at, kid? You think I don't want to fix her? If you think for one second that I'm not giving it my best out of some misguided loyalty to you or something, you are dead wrong. Sure, she screwed up but in the end she tried to do right by you. Maybe it was way too late but she tried. And dammit, all the poor girl ever wanted was to have a baby with the man she loved. Millions of women take it for granted but it just kills the ones who can't do it! Trust me, I've seen it enough."

Bones breathing was accelerating and his face was getting red but he was far from finished, "So, Jim, since you know so much, what do you think we should do? Huh! I've tried everything in the books, talking, massaging, painful stimuli. You've sat there and fucking _watched_ me. What am I leaving out?" Emotions erupting, Bones reached out and slammed his hand into the deck, "She's totally catatonic, okay. She's gone and I don't know how to reach her. So what do you want? She's fucking _dead_, Jim! Her body just hasn't quite caught on yet."

Scotty and Spock pressed back into the wall as the two best friend glared over them at each other. Without warning, Jim suddenly shed his layers and shoved off the wall. Scotty moved to follow, afraid he might try to take a swing at the doctor but Jim dropped into a crouch in front of Nyota and grabbed her chin in a gentle but firm grip.

"Hey! Uhura! It's Jim and I am ordering you to wake…_the fuck….up._ You think this is some kind of penance, do you? You want to tell me you're sorry? Well, don't you dare fucking die on us then. Open your eyes and fucking _tell me_! And while you're at it, _eat something_! Uhura! UHURA!"

Jim's hands tightened on her chin, jerking her forward slightly and Bones had just about reached the end of his rope when the freezing young woman inhaled a deep, raspy breath and squeezed her eyes closed. All four men came to silent attention as she gently shook her head back and forth.

Bones cradled her a little closer, "Nyota, come on, come out of this. You've got to snap out it."

Leaning close, Jim joined in, "Come ON, Uhura! Open your eyes. You have to wake up!"

Brown eyes, living, angry eyes snapped open and flew quickly around the room, alighting on each face before coming to rest on Jim. They starred at each other in a silent stand-off for moments until Nyota finally hitched in a breath. "Jim?" she asked, her voice rusty from lack of use.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

"I know. Please eat." Rising from his crouch, Jim walked across the room to their food stash. Nyota let her head fall back against Bones' shoulder, starring up at the ceiling. "Leo?"

"Yeah, Ny?"

"The baby. I lost my baby, didn't I?"

Bones sighed and looked down to meet her eyes, "Yeah, Ny. I'm so sorry."

She nodded slowly, her eyes growing bright with tears, sobs catching in her throat. Bones hugged her tightly, "Don't do that Ny. You've got to let it out." The young woman nodded, bighting her lower lip as her face crumbled in pain. As Jim, Scotty and Spock huddled together in helpless silence, Nyota turned into Bones' shoulder and sobbed.

* * *

It was time. Whether time for a great victory or his own slow and painful death, Pavel couldn't be sure. All he knew was that the circumstances were never going to get any better than they were right now. The Genovese was passing close to Creil IV, a planet with enough ship traffic to allow the Aberdeen to get close to its prey without raising too much suspicion. They were also within beaming distance of a civilization that Nenna could get to if Pavel failed. But he wasn't going to fail! Nenna was steady with the transporter and he had trained under mad geniuses who pulled off things like this like it was walking the dog. Checking all three phasers and his communicator, he quickly reviewed the plan with Nenna, who shot him an exasperated look.

"I'm fine, Pavel. You showed me what to do. Now you're just going to have to trust me."

He nodded, an amused smile forming to cover up his fear. "Stop stalling." He told himself. It was time to go. Stepping up on the platform, he glanced quickly around the ship that he'd called home for five years. "I hope to see you in a wery few minutes," He thought before giving the command, "Energize."

When he first rematerialized, it took Pavel whole moments to catch his breath. He couldn't remember ever feeling this cold and he was from _Russia_! Shaking his hands out, he surveyed his surroundings. The hallway he was in was wide, deserted and barely lit. The air was damp and freezing and he shuddered to think what it was doing to his crewmates. The doors around him resembled cargo bays and had small view windows in them. Sliding one open carefully, he saw what appeared to be ship supplies. Okay, so this was probably not the containment area. Not a problem, no reason to panic. He'd just move on until he found it.

Rounding the corner, Pavel smiled. It seemed Lady Luck had finally decided to smile on the crew of the Aberdeen. The hallway was lined with the same type of doors as the cargo bays but they were closer together and guarded with red force field beams. "Looks like holding cells to me," thought the relieved Russian, heading towards the one door that had the force field engaged. Sliding open the view window, Pavel almost cried in relief. They were there! Quickly disengaging the beam, he flung open the door.

Jim surged to his feet, his face a mixture of confusion and delight. "Pav….Pav? How….."

"Zhere iz no time for explanations. Ve need to go." Pavel tossed Jim a phaser and grabbed his communicator. "Nenna, can you lock on to zhis signal?"

"I've got you, Pav." Came the voice through the tiny device. Jim quirked an eyebrow but Pavel just shook his head. "Okay, we need to move you all. Keptin, you know the transporter can only hold three people at once. Who goes first?"

Scotty jumped up. "Uhura and Spock are the worst off." At that, Pavel spun around and starred in shock at the former communications officer. He turned back to Scotty, who quickly cut him off, "Keep it together, mon. Ye said so yerself, we dunno have time for this. Questions later."

Bones struggled to his feet, supporting a weakened Nyota. "Spock, do you think you can hold her." The freezing Vulcan shook his head. "Okay, let me go with her then. She can't stand by herself right now."

Jim nodded, "Pav, you go back with them since you apparently know this strange voice on the other end," he shot Pavel a playful smile.

"Foin, good. Enough talking. Let's hurry," bristled Scotty. "Give us the communicator. Hello, lass?"

"I'm here," replied Nenna.

"Okay, you three in the corridor. Lass, can you lock on that position?"

"Done."

"Okay, then. Beam them out."

The familiar whirring of transporter beams echoed into the cell as Pavel, the doctor, and Nyota were caught up and dematerialized.

A moment passed.

"Keptin."

"I'm her laddie."

"Okay, can you get togezher. It vill be easier to lock on to you."

Scotty and Jim reached down to pull Spock to his feet. The freezing Vulcan pressed closely to his mate as they waited for final confirmation when….

"Oh, Keptin, KEPTIN!"

Scotty's eyes widend and glanced at the door. "What, Pavel."

"Keptin, zhey've….zhey've blocked zhe signal…..Keptin, zhey're coming!" the communication cut off with a whining gurgle. Reaching over Spock, Scotty grabbed the phaser from Jim, who pressed Spock back into the rear of the cell. Pointing the ineffectual weapon at the door, Scotty waited.

"You are worth more to us alive than dead, human." Came a gruff, bored voice, "but we will kill you if you give us no other choice. It would be better if you didn't make things difficult for yourself."

Scotty gritted his teeth in frustration and looked down at the dead communicator. They'd been so damn close. He glanced at Jim who shrugged and said, "Live to fight another day."

Scotty glanced back at the door. " How da I know yer telling the truth," he asked.

The bored voice responded, "You don't. All you know is that we are coming in there in one minute. Your weapon will not hurt us, as I'm sure you realize, but if you are still holding it when we enter then we will shoot you. The choice is entirely yours."

His fingers tightened on the phaser. It felt wrong to abandon any type of defense but what could he really do. He'd seen the cannons that the Genovese crewmen carried with them. The phaser wouldn't do much of anything against that kind of fire power. Scotty shook his head, mouth twisted in an ugly grimace of frustration. Jim was right. This wasn't a fight they could win. Better to live and try again later. Mustering his resolve, Scotty chucked the tiny weapon out the door of the cell.

"There, ye damned beast. Ye have our weapon. Now what?"

Two of the large figures in thermal suits appeared in the doorway. They glanced over the three men still standing in the cell. "This is unfortunate," the creature on the left commented, "Our clients were very interested in obtaining the young woman and the doctor. They will not be happy." He took several steps toward the huddled prisoners. "I can only assume that your youngest crewmate was responsible for this rescue. The ship has fled at a rather impressive speed, so the three of you can take some comfort in that, I suppose." He began to pace slightly, talking more to himself and his fellow crewman then the three men against the wall, "You see, this is what comes from underestimating people. Your original captors didn't appreciate the threat the young Mr. Chekov represented. We too, it seemed, didn't take him seriously enough. Now it will cost. It will cost us money. As for those fools on the Suneptra, it will cost them their lives." Turning on his heel, he headed for the door, pausing at the threshold. "I wouldn't worry about the temperature anymore gentlemen. You will soon be boarding a ship which has a median temperature of 105 degrees. The Aequitas is on its way here, gentlemen." The door swung shut behind him.

Spock sank to the floor and Jim followed him down and held him close. Scotty paced for a few minutes. "I know tha name." He mumbled, "The Aequitas. I've heard of it before." Looking down at his two crewmates, he asked, "Haven't you."

Jim shook his head but Spock nodded, "I've ridden on that ship before."

Jim's head shot up and Scotty's eyes widened. "Tell us, Spock. What is that ship? What were you doing on it?"

Spock shrugged, "Traveling with my father. It's an official ship of the Vulcan High Council.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm starting the final chapter and its a little heavy and I'm hoping I taken on more than I can handle so all reviews would definitely be appreciated.


	15. Chapter 14

**A/N: I just want to let everyone know that this chapter _earns its rating_.**

**Paramount owns Star Trek.**

* * *

Ch. 14

Once aboard, it took Bones less than twenty minutes to conscript Nenna into an impromptu medical residency. Nyota had been conscious and lucid for roughly seven hours but she needed immediate medical attention if there were to be any chance of a full recovery. Bones' tone and body language revealed nothing but he honestly doubted he could salvage her reproductive system. The trauma, blood loss and malnutrition had just done too much damage.

Murmuring words of comfort, Bones scooped the battered woman up and laid her gently on the rec room table while Nenna scrambled to locate his meager supply of medical equipment. He hated to perform so intimate a procedure in so public a place but he needed the light and room to maneuver. Besides, who was he kidding, really? The only other person on the ship was Pavel and he was chained to the helm. They'd been forced to abandon the rest of their crew in the belly of the goddamn Genovese!

Nenna came flying back into the rec room with the equipment he'd requested. Bones eyed the girl as she competently unpacked his bag and arranged things within easy reach on a side table. He thought he might like her. After all, she'd certainly made a lasting first impression.

When they had re-materialized on the transporter platform, Nenna had been manning the controls. The simple fact that she hadn't vaporized them in the transfer earned her points as far as Bones was concerned. As he and Pavel clambered down from the platform, still cradling Nyota, she was already clearing and resetting the machines, aware of the necessary urgency. Pavel had raced to her side, communicator in hand, ready to lock on to their three crewmates. They had been fast. They had been remarkably efficient but it hadn't been enough. The Aberdeen had suddenly rocked with the force of enemy fire, just barely missing their bow and Pavel had shouted desperately into his communicator as the signal was blocked by the Genovese.

"One minute," Bones thought, "One more damn minute and we would've had them." He had the luxury of pondering the what-ifs. Pavel Chekov did not. In that split second, the young Russian officially became a captain, baptized by the inevitability of life or death decisions. Sparring only a second to grit his teeth in frustration, he broke and ran for the helm, firing up the warp core that Scotty had so lovingly modified and jetting the Aberdeen and her crew away from the bounty ship.

Bones had nearly thrown a fit, "Kid, what they hell are you doing!" he'd screamed as the Genovese disappeared into the black. Pavel had ignored the outburst, wholly concentrating on navigating away at lightning speed. It was Nenna, all five feet, two inches of her, that stopped Bones short when he headed towards the helm.

"Dr. McCoy, right? I think you have a patient who needs your care, sir."

Bones had blinked at the tiny virago in front of him. "Get out of my _way_," he'd cried, attempting to side step her, "We can't just leave them behind!"

Bones cantered right, then left, but years of preventing space station barfights had made Nenna a pro at the dance and deflect. She'd kept in front of him but always out of reach, impeding his progress, before finally ducking under his arm and sticking her finger right in his chest. "And just what do you think we should do, medicine man? I know enough about space ships to know that yours is completely outgunned. They knew we were there and blocked transport capabilities. There is no chance for us to pull off that rescue! So, we have two choices; stay and get blown to bits or fall back and regroup.

Look at him," she'd whispered furiously, gesturing towards Pavel's slumped shoulders, "Don't you think it's killing him that he left them. But he did the right thing. It was a tough decision and he made it and _you_ are not going to make him feel bad about it. You're going to do what I hear you do best, which is _fix_ people, starting with that poor lady over there who looks like she could use some help. And then we are going to figure out plan B. Any problems with that, _Doctor_?" She punctuated her sentence with a glacial stare.

Bones had starred back for about ten seconds before shocking himself by dropping his eyes. He doubted he could ever prove intimidating to a waitress from a spaceport bar. Besides, everything the girl had said was the truth. In fact, despite the fact that Pavel's quick thinking had led to their continued imprisonment, Bones realized that Jim, Scotty, and Spock would be proud of the kid. He'd behaved like a captain and Bones wouldn't fault him for it.

Nor would he fault this Nenna, a girl he didn't even know, who for all her brave words was clearly devastated by the plight of three complete strangers. Bones was impressed. The kid obviously possessed a healthy amount of empathy, probably perfect for the medical profession. And that was good because he was going to need some help with Nyota. Resolving to pull his head out of his ass and stick to what he was good at, the doctor had marched back into the rec room to tend to his injured friend.

And now he and Nenna were carefully working over Ny's damaged body with a near feverish intensity. Bones' stubborn tenacity was rising to the forefront, brilliant surgical mind and hands firing away as he raced to save her dreams of motherhood. Because he couldn't lose _that_, too. With bounty hunters on their tail, Vulcan and Starfleet on their case, and Scotty, Jim, and Spock carted off to gods only knew where, he just needed this one little victory to give him a little damn hope. And although he barely knew her, the tiny spit-fire across the table seemed to have just as much invested in this positive outcome. So the two of them surged forward, Nenna displaying an aptitude that would even have impressed Leonard's girl Chapel and Bones carefully cleaning, stitching and repairing days old damage, biting his lip with hope.

An hour later, he injected one last hypo of antibiotics into an exhausted Nyota and sank down on a stool to her left. Sensing their need for privacy, Nenna inconspicuously slipped away and headed towards the helm to sit by Pavel. Bones let his eyes scan over the prone form before him, carefully noting the long list of minor injuries that would need repair. All that could wait though. Right now Nyota's mind was just as fragile as her body. Bones tentatively reached out and grasped her hand before finally meeting her eyes. They were tired but empassioned and a litany of unexpressed sentiment passed between the two humans before Nyota finally took a breath and asked, "Is there any chance?"

Bones bristled at the defeated tone in her voice. "There'll be less of one if you can't try to keep positive." He growled. She immediately tensed and he softened, repentant. "Look, I can't make you any promises. Besides, you're the master communicator and you'd know if I was lying. The odds aren't great. But you know how much stock I put in the power of positive thinking. And you're a damn strong woman. If anyone can pull through this in one piece, it's you. But you're going to have to want it very badly."

Nyota snorted derisively, withdrawing her hand as tears sprang up in her eyes. "Wanting it was never the problem, _Leo_," she retorted in a pained voice, "Look around you. Look at all the trouble I have caused!" Her breath hitched and her voice rose precipitously, "We are all fugitives from the law because of how badly I wanted it. The man I loved lost his mind and nearly killed his best friend. We all spent years in prison. You all have been reduced to manning a cargo ship in the East End of Hell and now Spock, Jim, and Scotty have been kidnapped, all because of how badly I _want it_. No, Leo, I think my _wanting it_ is the problem, okay. Look at me! People like me don't deserve to be mothers!"

Nyota cut off her tirade and starred miserably up at the ceiling, silent but for the occasional choking sob. Bones gave her a minute, averting his eyes in a semblance of privacy and taking the short reprieve to gather his own thoughts. He sighed. Once upon a time, in a world where he'd been the CMO of the Federation Flagship and she'd been bright and shining, he'd been known to have a way with words. Well, it had been a long time since he exercised that gift but he needed it now. Nyota bore responsibility, that he couldn't and wouldn't deny, but they'd hashed most of that out years ago during their time in the Starfleet brig. Besides, she still remained largely ignorant of the gargantuan clusterfuck that had instigated the events aboard the Enterprise all those years ago. If she wanted to flagellate herself later, he wouldn't try to stop her, but she was going to know the whole truth first. He took a breath. "Look, darlin, I'm not gonna excuse your role in this. There are things you have to answer for but you and I have already had that discussion. But before you place a price on your guilt, there are a few things you should know."

So he told her; about soulmates and _plak tows_ and beta wolf hormones, about Spock's inner struggle and the deep seated loathing that Jim was helping to heal. And he told her the good news, that against all odds, the crazy couple was actually making it work. She listened stoically, her face emotionless save for the gradual slackening of her features as her tension fell away and relief set it. Her lips actually quirked when Bones recounted he and Jim's prison closet stand-off.

"So, he basically told you that your penance was to let him forgive you?"

"Yep. He said the same thing to Spock, maybe with a few more histrionics. And it was a hell of a lot harder than I thought it would be, let me tell you, to stop kicking myself around, to attempt to look him and myself in the eye again. But we did it." He reached out and gently pinched her cheek, "Jim'll forgive you, too."

Nyota shook her head. "It's not going to be that simple, Leo. When it comes right down to it, you and Spock were his best friends. I know how close you were and how often you were there for him before all this happened. You have years of positive, good memories to counterbalance this one event. But Jim and I were never really close friends. I was his crewman professionally and his best friend's girlfriend in private. We just don't have the same history to fall back on. Also, unlike you, I have nothing but purely selfish motives to explain my actions. I wanted to keep my boyfriend and have a baby. What's forgivable about that?"

Nyota still starred at the ceiling, her expression pensive and a bit pained. Bones took a moment to run his scanner over her. He had to wind this conversation down. She was exhausted and needed to rest. "Look, Ny. Now you know the whole story. I am not saying that there isn't a need for accountability. There is. But you need to look at yourself with a fair and balanced eye, too. You want to say that there is no excuse for what you did? I won't argue that point with you. But you were recovering from your third miscarriage and you and I both know what that had done to you. You were as, hell, "emotionally compromised" as the rest of us. None of us are innocent but I've at least learned to live with the fact that none of us set out to willfully and maliciously hurt Jim. And he knows that. I'm not saying it makes it alright. It doesn't even come close. But it doesn't do any good to exaggerate the situation either. And the truth is you are not a monster. You are a generally good woman who did something terrible when she was desperate and ill. And let's please not forget that you turned yourself in and went to prison in an attempt to make amends and save Jim. You are a good person who did a bad thing and that shouldn't preclude you from motherhood!"

Nyota closed her eyes and said nothing. Bones huffed out an exasperated breath. "Just think on that, will you. And in the meantime, please fight like hell. If you decide later on that you want to relinquish your dreams to your own guilty conscience, you can, but right now I want you to fight to keep all your options open. Can you do that for me? Please?" He clung to her hand as she slowly nodded her head. He smiled. "Thanks, darlin. Now, you have to get some sleep. I'm gonna have to fix you up more later but right now you need rest." He glanced around. "Can you get your arms around my neck? I'm gonna carry you to my cabin. You are on complete bed rest until otherwise instructed, is that clear?"

The young woman smiled slightly at the gruffly familiar tone she associated with the CMO of the Enterprise. Raising her arms, she looped them around Bones' shoulders as he carried her gently down the hallway and deposited her on his bunk. She clung to his neck for a moment, the two humans once again sinking into each other's eyes, lost in memories of a brig, and fear, and the need to touch away the guilt.

It was Bones who drew away. "You need to get your sleep." He turned to go, but a masochistic curiosity made him pause and throw the question he needed answered over his shoulder. "Whose was it, Ny?"

He could hear her freeze and suck in her breath. Hell, why did he even want to know this?

"Not yours, Leo."

"Dammit, Ny. Don't you think I know that? It's been almost three years!" Spinning around, he fixed her with a furious glare.

Nyota smiled sadly. "By that…..Leo…….I only meant that I ……I would have wanted it to have been……yours."

"Really? You didn't seem too anxious for that when I asked you to come to Lavanar. You wanted to run in the other damn direction!"

She sighed, "I had a sense that prison relationships probably didn't have a high success rate in the outside world. I was stupid. I should have trusted you."

"You knew where I was. You could have found me."

"I _did._ But Sarek had said to keep a low profile, which made traveling kind of hard. I got there four weeks after Scotty and Jim grabbed you. I…..I missed you."

"And still you…."

"Don't say it, Leo. You'll only feel bad about it later. I know you too well. And as far as that goes, I didn't do this until you were officially out of reach. Now go on and get out of here. I'm tired. Someday, if you really want to know, I'll tell you, but not now."

Bones closed his eyes. It was time to go. He needed distance, she needed rest, the boys needed rescuing and all of this would have to wait. But he couldn't just walk away. Taking three quick strides, he dropped to a knee and gently brushed her lips. "Sweet dreams, Ny." She smiled.

Bones strode towards the door, his attention now settled firmly on Pavel. It was time to come up with a plan.

* * *

_It was the air that did it, the thick, tangible heat, the sweetish, sandy smell. And the gentle breeze that ruffled his hair and dried the delicate beads of sweat, well, that was the same, too. If he closed his eyes he could almost see the rippling red walls, the twinkling of starlight through the huge bay window that looked out from their bedroom over New Vulcan. He could almost feel the give of the mattress, the slide of slippery silk under his knees. _

_He remembered the air from that night, although why that should have stayed with him through all these years, he just didn't know. But always, always, when he wanted to revisit that moment, he thought of the air. And he had frequently, willingly gone back there so many nights, when he and Spock had still been parted but never fucking parted, never and always fucking wanting to touch. That night had been the moment, the turning point, the night he and Spock had stepped back onto the highroad together. That had been the first night Spock touched him selflessly._

_He hadn't expected it. Sure, he'd grown accustomed to getting fucked, getting claimed and fucking taken every single night. He'd grown immune to the taste of the red silk sheets as he was pressed face down into them again and again, pummeled and seized by his relentless Vulcan overaroundinside of him. But there was no attention to his needs, no need for him to be anything but a receptacle for another man's possessive lust. _

_Perhaps the change had been less sudden then he had realized but his complacency and despair had largely blinded him to the subtly shifting dynamic in their relationship. He had overlooked the implications of Spock's re-emerging desire to read, to converse, to analyze problems for sheer enjoyment's sake. These little indicators, so reminiscent of his old friend, had gone completely unnoticed. It had taken a sledgehammer to clue him in._

_It had started with a gentle hand. He'd been lying in their bed, as he did every night, waiting, as he did every night, for the Vulcan to fuck him senseless and fall asleep. Spock had been away for three days and Jim was anticipating at least two rounds just to make sure that the tell-tale scent of Spock's Bitch was amply reapplied. He had heard the door open and close, listened to the telling rustle of clothing being removed and folded, felt the dip in the bed as the lean, familiar figure approached him. And then everything had changed._

_Hot fingers, strong and sure, had carded through his honey hair, seeking out his scalp and rubbing in a firm, circular motion. Jim had tensed, unfamiliarity causing him to slide towards panic, but the fingers had maintained their rhythm, working their way down his neck, across his tensed shoulders, stretching his arms up over his head and kneading right down to his fingertips. It was horrifying and delicious and Jim had pressed his forehead into the sheet to hide the dichotomous blend of confusion and delight that danced across his face. _

_The lips that followed were soft and cooler than he would have anticipated. They made tracks down his spine, trailing fingers that ran over his ribs, down the long flanks of his legs. Scared silly and edging towards real arousal, he'd almost gasped when a hand gently grasped his hair, pulling his head back so a hot mouth could nibble and worry at his neck and ear. _

_The attention lavished on upper extremities had served as a distraction from the warm fingers that had lightly caressed the swell of his ass, gently probing the cleft before sliding in neatly, first one, then two fingers dripping with warm oil. Granted, that feeling was not entirely new; Spock had no desire to re-injure his mate and had prepared Jim carefully, if emotionlessly, ever since their initial bonding. But this was somehow different, the action gentle, deliberate, intended to cause pleasure as much as prevent pain._

_And holy fuck was it pleasurable!_

_Jim squeezed his eyes shut and dug his hands deep into the red sheets. He might not have any power but he did have his damn pride and Spock was not going to make him enjoy his touch. He had mastered the art of physical restraint, determined that Spock wouldn't be given opportunities to subdue him, but he had thus far maintained a steady mental rebellion. It had held firm for nearly six months but each careful thrust of the Vulcan's hands inside him caused the cracks in his fragile resistance to spread farther. His body gave an involuntary jerk as a long finger brushed over his prostate and a low throaty sob fought its way out from behind his clenched teeth. _

_His moan triggered an immediate reaction in his Vulcan mate, who pulled back and grasped him about the waist. Kneeing his thighs apart, Spock pressed his insistent erection against his mate's entrance, pushing past the resistant muscles with a slow constant pace. Jim's eyes rolled back and his hands clawed helplessly at the arm encircling his waist like a steel band, drawing him flush against Spock's chest. Seated completely, Spock held him still, placing his hand against Jim's face and pressing gentle nips and kisses along his jaw line and ear. The full on sensual attack nearly overwhelmed the human and he sprawled limply against Spock's chest and shoulder, hands grasping at anything, shoulder blades sliding across coarse hairs with each hitch of his breath. _

_Jim was in ecstatic hell! The notion to rebel, to resist this onslaught was fading away under the delicious sensations but his mind couldn't quite stop fighting. He concentrated on his breathing, focused his thoughts on the streetlamps far below him in the New Vulcan Valley and strove to recapture a sense of control. His heart rate was just returning to normal when Spock launched his final assault. Grasping the human's thigh, he had lifted Jim up, withdrawing almost completely from his body, and then surged back up into him with a rolling thrust._

_And Jim's mini-rebellion had collapsed._

_He had not cogent memories from there on out, only feelings, sensations, pieces of words, of "Je…Jesu….Spo….ah" that tapered off into gasps. Spock took him with delicate aggression, each thrust sharp but perfect. The arm at his waist, immovable as steel, held him steady to receive each penetration as the free hand grasped his treacherous cock and milked it firmly. Spock pressed his mouth into Jim's ear and panted his pleasure, allowing the human to hear just what his body was doing to his typically stoic mate and Jim unwittingly flung an arm up around the back of Spock's neck, clawing and pressing their cheeks together. Dammit, he wasn't supposed to enjoy this but he just didn't care anymore. His body was exploding all over and he was going to come and Spock's name was going to be on his lips and he just didn't fucking give a damn and…_

"aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! Get the FUCK OUT!!!!"

Jim Kirk jerked his head back, yanking away from the unfamiliar hand that sought out the meld points on his face. A slow trickle of blood ran from his nose to drip off his chin and splash on his thigh. Dropping his head as he gasped for breath, he stared down at his body. He was stripped bare, bound securely to an immoveable chair, but otherwise completely untouched. So why the hell did he feel like he'd gone twelve rounds with a Klingon? Was mind rape really that damn exhausting?

Lifting his head, he starred across the narrow room, ignoring the sadistic bastard in the middle, and locked eyes with his enraged mate. He pushed out desperately across their bond, projecting _okay_ and _fine_ with all his strength. A part of him didn't want to bother. Spock wasn't blind. He could see the progressive damage being inflicted on his human and it was tearing down his mental shields, making him desperate, making him primitive. And they couldn't let that happen. That would give these fucking _illogical_ pricks the inlet they needed to go rifling through Spock and Jim's collective memories and Jim was pretty damn certain he knew which one they were looking for. If they got it, they'd use it to break him, to break Spock through him, and he needed Spock to keep it together to help keep that door locked. These assholes were already getting too close.

Glancing to the left, his eyes fell on Scotty, propped inelegantly against the wall, his head lolling in unconsciousness, his cheek swollen and misshapen. This sight alone confirmed that they were in a world of shit because Vulcans were pacifists and they didn't hit; unless, of course, they weren't in their right minds.

There were three of them; male, older than Spock but certainly young for Vulcans. Why such as these would have dealings with the Vulcan High Council, Jim wasn't sure but he supposed beggars couldn't be choosers following the monumental loss of life on their planet. Their captors were strong and aggressive but youth was not without its _weaknesses_ and Jim had exploited them to the best of his abilities, siphoning his own information as their overeager leader pushed into his mind, attempting to breach Jim's most guarded secrets.

He had focused on the basics first, their names; Sivel, Sunik and Serdah. Yes, Serdah, or the happy sadist, as Jim liked to call him now. The other two made great henchmen but Serdah was definitely the evil genius and it was his personal machinations that Jim was suffering under now; not T'Pau's, not any other member of the Vulcan High Council. That had floored Jim, when he had first stumbled on the information in Serdah's mind. Spock had been so convinced of his own unforgivability that Jim had never saw reason to question it. It had never occurred to him that Spock might've been wrong, that the Vulcans might _not_ want them dead, that with their secrets already revealed, vengeance and puniation would be emotional and inefficient. But that appeared to be the case and when Serdah and his co-horts had been commissioned by the council to pursue the crew of the Aberdeen, apparently it had been for no more nefarious a purpose than to stand trial.

Jim would've been rolling on the floor laughing if the information hadn't come so damn late. T'Pau had _wanted _him to save Spock, had wanted Jim to satisfy his _pon farr_, but had kept that damned opinion to herself to respect his privacy and self-determination! Well, that was just great. Jim had never realized that actually minding your own business could cause so much damage. There was no great conspiracy, no super-emotional Vulcan agenda of destruction, just a couple of highly annoyed elders who thought it only appropriate that Spock and his crewmates should come to New Vulcan and own up to their actions. Hell, Spock could've gotten off with time served!

Well, if he was having a hard time processing this information, it was hitting this Serdah even harder. The young Vulcan was furious beyond reason, a rage of such depth Jim didn't have the mental resources to process it. He had lost his planet and saw the public revelation of Vulcan's carefully guarded secrets as a second death for his culture. To be thrown open and laid bare before the eyes of the entire Federation was not an insult to be born and he had rejoiced in the idea of Spock's slow, torturous death in the _plak tow._ When Jim had rescued Spock, Serdah had convinced the council that pursuit was necessary to prove that Vulcan was still powerful, still capable of upholding its law. He had won the right and resources to pursue Spock's rescue party and bring them back to the planet to face charges but Jim now knew the man had no intention of completing his mission. No, Serdah had a better idea.

Well, Jim would be damned if he was going to make it easy for bastard. He'd fight with everything he had. He starred hard at the Vulcan as he strode forward and wiped the stream of blood off Jim's chin. Holding up his red streaked fingers, he smirked.

"Ah, you naïve human. Do you really think me so incapable. I have found the information I sought. I must admit to taking enjoyment in your ineffective attempts to shield your mind but the time for petty games has passed." Prowling around to stand behind Jim, he ran his hands lightly over the bare shoulders, meeting Spock's murderous gaze with a satisfied smirk, "No, I believe it is time for the piece de resistance, if you will; the endgame. So, I will leave you to for a bit and take a bit of repose and then we will all have what I believe you humans call some fun" Eyes sparkling with malevolent promise, Serdah carded a hand through Jim's hair and walked out of the room.

* * *

**A/N: Please, no one panic. I know that is a rotten place to end as a cliff hanger but the next chapter is already written and being edited to post so there won't be a long wait.**


	16. Chapter 15

**A/N: Hi, everyone. I want to warn people that this chapter contains flashbacks to a rape. I tried to focus primarily on victim's feelings as opposed to the actual event but I just want everyone to be aware up front.**

**Paramount owns Star Trek.**

* * *

Ch. 15

They stared. Why not, really? After all, they'd already exhausted words. What with all the apologizing, forgiving, exploring, analyzing, and unpacking they'd done in the past few years, there really wasn't anything left to say. Instead, they just drunk in the sight of each other, eyes conveying more sentiment than a thousand verbal expressions. All it took was the quirk of a brow or the gentle upturned smirk of a mouth to say "I love you."

They'd exhaustively tested the ropes but could find no weaknesses and this left them without alternatives. Jim's ability to shield his mind, even with Spock's help, was simply no match for Serdah. He would tear them to shreds and pull Jim's worst memories to the forefront.

And make him relive them.

So they simply stared, both realizing that if by some miracle they survived this with any of their sanity intact, they'd probably never be able to look at each other again.

Both sets of eyes suddenly jerked left as a low groan echoed through the room. An absurd bubble of hope and relief rose up in Jim's stomach as Scotty rolled over and managed to sit up. He wasn't dead! Well, not yet at least. Jim had a strong sense that the irascible Scotsman wouldn't just be walking out of here when this was done.

Shaking his head, Scotty took in the situation. He was bound securely and locked to a balustrade but that didn't stop him from pulling and fighting furiously. The restraints held tight, however, and he looked towards his crewmates with a shrug. "I see our situation dinna improve much since I nodded off." Jim shook his head, "Well, do ya have an inkling of their plan?"

"Oh, yeah. They ripped open my mind and found my very worst memory. Now they're going to make me relive it over and over again until it drives me insane. And that'll drive Spock insane. And then we'll probably die."

"Aye," Scotty's voice sounded tired and heavy, "And which memory would tha be?"

Jim shot him a glare.

"Right. And there's no blocking it, is there, like Sarek showed ya?"

"I'm not strong enough. Spock is but the asshole will be in my brain and he can only do so much through the bond. Besides, they deliberately broke down his controls."

The Vulcan under discussion suddenly tensed and met his eyes meaningfully. "They are coming, Jim."

Jim relaxed back into the chair. His fists clenched and he pulled vainly at the restraints on his wrists, chaffing and abrading the tender skin. Sinking back in defeat, he met Spock's gaze again. "Man, how did you and I ever end up as such star-crossed fucking lovers?"

Spock eyed him tenderly but before he could speak a thoroughly pissed off Scotsmen slammed his foot into the floor, "Enough of tha shit! Ya two can quote poetry ta each other later. Right now ya need ta remember yer physics."

Footsteps could be heard in the hallway, voices speaking in a dull monotone.

Scotty dropped to a whisper. "Actions, Captain. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Ya know straight how ya felt during that attack. Ya studied it, analyzed it like ya would a chess move. And ya know what ya would need ta counter it. Now find something strong enough ta fight back!"

Jim stared at him. Counter it, counter it, an equal and opposite reaction. The door scraped and screeched as Serdah and his henchmen strode back into their room. An equal and opposite reaction. Like what? A memory, a positive one, strong enough to combat the humiliating horror they were about to inflict on him? Sounds good in theory, Scotty, but where the hell would he get that memory? Saving Earth, receiving his captaincy? They were good but so damn far-removed.

A tight band of panic began to constrict his chest as the vengeance mad Vulcan approached him. The compassionless expression he could handle, but the dark, malicious glint in Serdah's eyes made his stomach turn. This man was going to take great satisfaction is his destruction, in Spock's despair. It might be illogical, but it was tangibly real. And suddenly Jim was pissed. Who the hell did this guy think he was anyway? He and Spock had been through hell, had clawed their way back and this miserable bastard thought to take it all away again because of some embarrassment? He caught Spock's eye as Serdah stepped up behind him and ran a hand leisurely over his cheek. And he knew, he had it, the one moment that had counteracted ever horrible nuance of their bonding. And he'd found it not a second too soon, as Serdah sunk forcefully into his mind and dragged him down, down, down, into black…..

_He smelled. Really smelled, of seven days of collective sweat and blood, of perfume and cleaning products and anything he could steal to cover up the unique odor that Spock was using to track him. An odor of panic and desperation. And fear._

_The cabin was dark, the air stale. The ventilation system had gone down when he'd disabled the room's computer controls but it was worth it if it meant that no one could get in. The lights were out, too, but there was nothing in there he wanted to see, least of all his own face. He didn't want to look at his panic, his vulnerability, his desperate, abandoned despair. He was alone, completely alone, but at least here, in this darkness, he was safe. He clutched the crowbar like a lifeline and studiously ignored the hunger pains coursing through his stomach, or the lightheaded unreality that clouded his mind. _

_The first horrible, rending screech caused him to jump and backpedal across the floor, pushing with hands and feet in a panic induced crab crawl. His eyes shot to the cabin door but he could see no tell-tale shadow impeding the tiny sliver of light at the bottom. Besides, Spock had already tried to break through without success before retreating back to his own cabin next door. So what was that sound? _

_Jim peered carefully in the direction it had come from, eyes readjusting to the darkness. The bulkhead appeared solid and undisturbed and he was just about to chastise himself for unnecessary paranoia when the entire replicator mechanism ejected itself from the wall and shattered on the floor!_

_Jim didn't know if his delayed reaction was the result of malnourishment or just his own surrender to inevitability. Either way, he could only sit and stare as a square of light shone through the hole in the bulkhead, leaving a golden outline on the floor. It was hypnotic and he starred at it, dazed, when a second angry screech emanated from the wall. Pale, shaking, destructive, olive-hued hands grasped the bowing metal and ripped with an impossible force, tearing, splitting and before Jim's glazed eyes the wall began to shred apart like paper. He lacked the strength of will to panic or retreat as a shivering, nude body with eyes straight from the blackest hell ripped through the bulkhead and propelled itself into his safe place._

_SPOCK!_

_He was a half-human, half-Vulcan but his stoicism and humanity had been firmly suppressed by the animalistic survival instincts that currently held him in thrall. His eyes locked on Jim's, the expression primal, possessive, positively murderous and Jim's own fight or flight came rearing back with a frenzy. Grabbing the crow bar, he surged to his feet and braced himself as his enraged former first mate eyed him like prey._

_It happened so fast his eye barely registered it. Pure instinct caused him to raise the crowbar and then his whole arm exploded as the huge, metal pipe he hadn't even noticed in Spock's hand made contact, shattering his ulna into dust. His hand went numb and his last line of defense clattered heavily to the floor as the enraged Vulcan seized him by the waist and tossed him ingloriously over his shoulder. Jim could barely think through the pain as Spock yanked his disabled door opened and carried him into the corridor. Unconsciousness threatened but he still had enough sense to scan the halls for some aid. They were completely empty, the crew still in lockdown, but Bones, no, make that Dr. fucking McCoy and Uhura were standing several yards away, their faces twin masks of horror. _

_Striding purposefully into his cabin, Spock dumped him on his bed. Jim's arm was damn near useless but his legs kicked out involuntarily, even as his mouth unleashed a torrent of vitriolic spew. He couldn't even hear the words, just the rush of hate, agony and desperate humiliation they carried as the rags that had once been his command uniform were shredded and ripped away. He kicked and screamed for all he was worth until Spock let out a furious roar, gripped his thigh, and wrenched his knee obscenely to the left. Pain exploded, dancing red stars of agony across his eyes, driving the very breath from his lungs, choking him with his own silent screams. His body collapsed, surrendered in preservation even as his mouth continued to scream a litany of profanity. His arms sprawled helplessly above his head, his legs pinned spread eagle by the hot unyielding body atop him and a determined hand was reaching, probing, searching, and no, no, he couldn't stop him , no, NO…….._

***

_No, dammit, no, no, no. He was NOT going to just sit there and do nothing. His cabin aboard the Aberdeen had never felt more suffocating, the air too still and crackling with potential energy. And small, dammit, it was small in there and he could only pace six steps in either direction, not nearly enough to consume his tension. The small, niggling sensation in his brain, the pull, the want was kicking into full swing and he just wasn't strong enough to resist the draw._

_And why should he? They were married, weren't they? Hell, they'd been married for years, if you wanted to get all technical about it. And it wasn't like they'd never done it before. But here he paused, honest assessment crashing down around him. No, they had never done this and to be honest he found the possibility as terrifying as exhilarating. _

_Slumping on his bed, he ran his hands through his shaggy hair. He felt worn down and exhausted. He should probably just go to bed. But that was just laughable. He had been on edge like this for three days and the result was always the same; a sleepless night. He had to try a different tack because ignoring this thing, hoping it would just disappear, clearly wasn't working. _

_Lifting his head, he starred hard at his cabin door, willing it to give way and show him what lay beyond. He knew Scotty had put Spock in the cabin across from him as a kindness, as an invitation to figure their shit out but so far it had been nothing but torture. He just didn't know what to do. It was one thing to work out their issues, talk through their pain and anger, learn to forgive. But this was something entirely different. To take that step, to open that door was to forge the foundations of a real relationship. There would be no force, coercion or necessity to blame for his actions. It would just be him, them, their own needs and he just wasn't sure he was ready for that._

_Oh hell, who was he kidding? He hadn't spent three nights locked in this cabin freaking out about how he didn't want to fuck his husband. No, he wanted it, badly, and if the subtle but relentless pull of the bond in his mind was any indication, Spock wanted it too. The thought was equal parts frightening and intoxicating because it held such hope, such possibility of a real life together, without all this messy drama of blocked bonds, plak tows, and jailbreaks. _

_He took two steps towards the door. Really, was this what he wanted? Yes, it had to be because he couldn't make himself take a step back. So forward again, one step, two, a hand raised to palm open the door with a soft swoosh._

_Their eyes met across the corridor. Jim sucked in his breath at the sight of his Vulcan standing indecisively in the doorway of his own cabin, his face oddly tight, lips compressed, eyes wide and nervous. Hell, Spock look positively flustered and they starred at each other for a full minute, weighing indecision, before Spock finally took a breath and spoke. _

"_Cap…….Jim…….I can sense your emotions, your confusion and frustration. I realize the implications of the actions you are considering and I appreciate your concern. I…I wish you to know that I feel gratitude for all you have risked and also that I am fully aware of the expectations between terran spouses. Our bond indicates that you are reluctant because you fear my rejection and I want you to know that even if I were so inclined….."_

"_Are you?"_

"_Excuse me?"_

"_Inclined? To reject me?"_

"_Jim, the emotional implications of this are difficult for me to…."_

"_Then I will spell it out for you, in familiar standard. Do….you….want…..to……fuck?"_

"_Jim, I am determined to satisfy…."_

"_You're tapdancing. I didn't ask you if you would fuck me. I asked if you wanted to."_

_Spock starred over Jim's shoulder, eyes far away. Across their bond, Jim could practically hear him analyzing the situation. He felt the moment of decision, saw Spock's spine straighten with resolve and could barely contain his relief when the Vulcan looked him square in the eye and said, "Yes."_

_They pushed off their respective doorways in perfect synch, eyes licking over each other, hands reaching out tentatively to brush and retract. Taking a step forward, Jim pressed his thumb carefully along Spock's bottom lip, smiling when the Vulcan covered his fingers with his own. Emboldened, he grasped Spock's chin and lower back and took a slow, careful step back towards his cabin. One foot, then another, slowly and gently, nudging Spock into a retreat that led them right up to the edge of his….._

_***_

…_.bed was one of the enemies, pinning him down, engulfing his battered limbs in deceptive softness while the hard, merciless form above him pressed relentlessly into his unprepared body. The pain was fucking brilliant, incredible, stunning, every ambiguous adjective he could think of cause there just weren't words bad enough! He could hear his screams, wordless, hoarse, but they no longer seemed a part of him. He twisted, his body regaining its mobility in a desperate bid for escape, his one good foot digging in a heel and propelled him back across the mattress. Spock huffed in rage, seized his shoulder and dragged him back down the bed, impaling him again with vicious finality. A hand pressed to his face and the words,"You Will Cease and Be STILL!"exploded in his head, taking his last bit of resistance with him. There was no reprieve from the pain, no difference in the sense of violation but he had lost the ability to fight it. Strong fingers seized his chin and held his head immobile, forcing him to stare into the face of an animal, eyes burning, lips curling, tongue……."_

_***_

……_slipping between his lips to flick hesitantly over Jim's fingers on his mouth. Torn between giddiness and mortification, Spock put up no resistance as Jim coaxed him to sit on the edge of his bed before falling to his knees between the outstretched legs. Gently cupping the Vulcan's face, Jim nuzzled his cheek, neck and nose, rubbing them skin to skin as he learned the contours of Spock's features. Eyes closed, reveling in the sense of touch, he pressed kisses all over Spock's face and throat as the Vulcan hitched his breath and pretended to be stoic. With a sense of evil pleasure, Jim skimmed his lips over Spock's with the barest of pressure, left then right and back again until the Vulcan's fragile control subsided and a strong hand found its way to Jim's nape, drawing him in. Lips met, tongues fought for entrance, hands clung and pulled, bodies connected and pressed. Holding tight to their kiss, Jim nudged Spock to swing around and lie out on his bed, inserting himself neatly between his mate's prone legs. Oh, the possibilities, to seek out, touch, rub deliciously. His right arm slid under Spock's neck, his left fingertips stroked over an exposed clavicle before skimming over a chest and stomach to settle at a waist. He positively itched to peel clothes off and had just resolved to start when Spock pulled his hands off Jim's ass and ran them up under his shirt. _

_Whatever remained of his concerns just melted away under the heat of Spock's hands. Pulling him up to a seated position, Jim knelt between Spock's legs as they carefully slipped each other's shirts up and over their heads and dropping them aimlessly to one side. Jim wrapped his arms around Spock's neck and shoulders, pressing their mouths together as he guided them back to the bed. His meager control was fraying and his hands moved on impulse to skim down over painfully hot skin to pull desperately at buckles and buttons. Pulling their lips apart, he whispered, "I need to see you," in a needy, heavy voice. Rearing back on his haunches, he tugged off regulation work boots, socks, and pants and then rested on his feet, allowing himself to drink in the view. Spock lay splayed with his knees bent, propped up on his elbows, considering Jim with a deep, enigmatic gaze. Flexing his hands and fighting off a moment of hesitancy, Jim let his fingers caress the exposed knees, press down into the ropy musculature of warm thighs before palming his way over the smooth planes of Spock's torso and chest. He needed to be closer, to feel everything and apparently the feeling was mutual because Spock was clawing at his sweats, pushing them down his thigh as far as his arms would extend, then looping a foot up and dragging them off with his heel. _

_Jim almost laughed. How he admired Vulcan ingenuity! His amusement was quickly overshadowed, though, by the firm press of hands on his shoulders, pulling him back down. Spock's face was no longer unreadable. It was open, panting and filled with want and they drank each other in as inch after inch of warm skin found each other and pressed close. Jim was lying fully on top of him, oblivious to the weight on his arm as he looped it beneath Spock's shoulders and pressed their chests flush. Mouths danced and teased, licking and nipping until Jim caved in to his body's demands and pressed Spock down into the mattress, breaching his mouth with his tongue. Delicate exploration would have to wait. Right now, his body wanted satisfaction and the unyielding pull of the bond wanted to lay claim. Pulling back slightly, he cupped Spock's cheek and asked, "What do you want?"_

_Confusion flitted across the Vulcan's face. "I do not understand the…"_

"_Yeah, you do. We're hovering right on the edge, Spock. How do you want to do this?"_

_Spock gazed up at him, understanding written in his eyes. Eyeing his fingers as they ghosted across Jim's chest, he said, "I want you to be in me."_

_Jim bit his lip against a bubble of uncertainty. "Are you sure? We've never done that before. And I….I really need you right now……I don't know if my control……I don't want to hurt you!"_

"_You will not."_

"_You don't know that."_

"_I do. I trust you Jim, with my life and certainly with my body. Please, allow me to give this to you. You cannot know how badly I need to."_

_And that was it. Whatever fragile control he had maintained was tossed by the wayside as he pressed into Spock's lips, chest, legs, panting against the delicious friction as he ground their hips together. He kissed down Spock's chest as he fumbled for the sweats haphazardly tossed on the floor, searching for the small tube he had, thank GOD, remembered to stuff in the pocket. Working his way back up the prone body beneath him, he pressed kisses over eyes, cheeks, and chin as he squeezed some of the clear fluid onto his fingers and nudged Spock's thighs apart with his knees. God, he was suddenly so fucking nervous. He'd never done this before but dammit he was not going to be deterred by fear. Pressing his forehead to his mate's, he pushed in carefully, enjoying how the Vulcan's smooth features contracted and relaxed with each plunge. It was tight, hot and holy shit he was inside Spock and a sense of possession flowed over him in an overwhelming shout of……_

_***_

…_.Mine._

_It was suffocating him, choking him. It wasn't the body pressing into his chest but the unyielding sense of possession that stole his ability to breath. It was all over him and through him, squeezing his lungs, constricting his heart, running through his blood and probing his mind, pressing and shoving its way in. His good arm reached up and desperately touched the face of the monster who was pinning him and ripping him apart. His pride was a thing of the past and his eyes BEGGED as he forced his mouth to plead, "Please?" in a hoarse whisper. Not "please stop"because he wasn't a fucking miracle worker but "please PLEASE don't kill me!" But dammit, hadn't he figured it out yet. There was no please, no mercy to be had, only new and viscous ways to humiliate and lay claim. He knew in a second that he'd made a mistake, as Spock seized on the vulnerable breach left by his plea and shoved hard against it, breaking through the last miserable defense in his mind. _

_He was sucked under the torrential tide of fire and need that overwhelmed his body and mind. Swirling tendrils snaked into every corner of his being, wrapping and binding him, erasing his own borders. There was no Jim. There was no Spock. They were no longer two entities but…._

_***_

_...One. Two equal parts that snapped together to make a cohesive unit. He felt it the second he seated himself inside Spock's body, their breath hitching together as they peered into each other's eyes. God, he needed more, needed to feel everything. Reaching down, he threaded their fingers, pulling their arms out high over their heads, stretching their bodies into long, accessible lines. He took a moment to nuzzle Spock's neck, to press kisses to his jaw, before he withdrew almost completely and surged back in. Spock's back arched and his hands squeezed Jim's fingers. He keened delicately in the back of his throat, high-pitched and beautiful as Jim began a slow, undulating rhythm, sliding over sensitive skin with each stroke. His body was on fucking fire and his brain was turning to mush as pure instinct took over the careful pace he was maintaining._

_His ability to function consciously abandoned by the wayside, Jim pushed up on his knees, dragging Spock's legs up and over his thighs. He released Spock's hands and grabbed onto the top of the mattress, using it as a lever to increase the speed of his thrusts. Spock's breath was pitched and erratic as he wrapped his arms around Jim's back and pressed his cheek into the human's chest. They clung furiously, desperately, need and want rolling off of them and the tension was coiling in Jim's belly with a delicious sense of inevitability. So close, so damn close and he didn't think he could get any closer to heaven until Spock lifted his hand to brush the side of his face. White……._

_***_

….._lights clawed at his mind, pushing, demanding entrance. Resistance was impossible. Spock was inside him everywhere, pushing, engulfing…._

_***_

……_wrapping around him with delicious warmth. God, he remembered this from his dream; the bond in its completion. But what a pale shadow that had been compared to this. His feelings, Spock's feelings, their friendship, their desire, their love magnified back in duplicate, running in tendrils along his skin even as he moved over Spock's. His mouth was open and a torrent of gasps and incomplete words of love fell out as a climax like white lightening ran through his body. Spock clawed at his back, shook his head side to side and arched his back as he came in an electric surge, the force of their mutual release compounding the sense of HOLY FUCK and they were melting, running together into one sticky pool of……_

"Grab his arm! Shit, mother-FUCKER!"

The snap in his brain registered as pain in a distant, vague sort of way. Voices were all around him but through the din he isolated the two he needed to hear. Bones, cussing like a pissed, drunk sailor as he barked out medical orders and probed Jim's wrist for a pulse. And Spock, who did not speak but roared from a short distance. Forcing his eyes open, Jim saw Pavel and an unknown Vulcan cut the last of Spock's restraints. He enraged mate surged to his feet, shattering the offending chair in the process as he strode forward, heedless of his nudity, to drop to his knees and haul Jim into his arms. Bones was running a tricorder over him, his expression livid but his eyes concerned and Jim smiled his winningest grin as the good doctor fussed like a mother hen.

"He's physically fine, Spock. How about his mind?"

"Unknown."

"Okay, well what do you propose?"

Spock stared into Jim's lax face, his eyes wildly indecisive. Letting his head fall against the warm shoulder, Jim gazed up and said, "S'alright, Spock. M'alright."

A flicker of relief flitted across the Vulcan's face. Nodding his head, he pressed his hand into Jim's cheek, "Sleep, t'hy'la."

"_Okay."_

* * *

There was light somewhere on the other side of his eyelids. There were small actions and murmured voices, too. Try as he might, though, Jim could not motivate his stubborn eyes to open and let him see. He worked at it for a solid ten minutes before a gruff, familiar voice chuckled to his left. "You awake in there, kid?" He felt the familiar sting and hiss of a hypo and feeling began to return to his extremities. Finally succeeding in jacking his eyes open, Jim took in his surroundings. He was clean, dressed and lying in a bed in a cool, airy room. Large windows overlooked a landscape he recognized as New Vulcan. Glancing to the right, he saw Bones tinkering with some vials and glowering at him.

"I'm thirty-four years old, Bones. Don't you think it's time you stopped calling me kid?"

Bones hit him with an onslaught of cantankerous affection. "Look, _kid_, the name was never based on age but maturity. And as long as you keep getting yourself into this goddamed messes, the moniker will stick." Bones sank down on his bed and gave him a small smile, "And it looks like I might get to do it for years to come."

Jim narrowed his eyes. Glancing around the room, he asked, "What the hell happened? Where's Spock?"

Bones snorted. "Spock is fine, Jim. We had to sedate him and then beam him up to the ship. He wanted to invoke some ancient Vulcan custom and fight that Serdah bastard to the death for threatening his mate. I think they were gonna let him do it, too, but it really wouldn't have been a good idea considering our current situation so instead Spock's taking a little nap in your cabin."

Jim nodded calmly before jumping to attention again. "The ship! The Aberdeen is here? Yes, I saw Pavel, no wait…"

"JIM. Listen to me. You need to relax. I will answer every damn question you can throw at me but only if you calm down. Otherwise I'm gonna hypo you back into the black and you and Spock can sleep it off together."

Jim glared at him, but attempted to relax back into the pillows. "So everyone one is okay?"

"Yeah, kid, absolutely everyone. Scotty, Spock , Pav, even Ny."

"Ny, Bones?"

"Yeah, we'll get to that. So, what do you want to know first?"

"You saved us. Did you come in there with guns blazing?"

"Ha, no. And we didn't really save you. You and Spock did that. You held that bastard off damn well. Spock gave Sarek consent to examine your mind and it's whole and undamaged. You're one lucky son of a bitch, my friend."

Jim shut his eyes, exhaling sharply. God, he couldn't believe they'd actually pulled through that. Digging into his mind, he found the bond and gave it a reassuring pluck. Still there, whole and undamaged. Cracking a relieved smile, he turned back to Bones. "Okay, so if there was no fancy rescue, how the hell did you find us?"

"Oh, now Jim, I didn't say there wasn't a fancy rescue. Let's just say that someone suggested we try a slightly different tactic this time."

"Who?"

"Nyota."

"Yeah, and what was the tactic?"

"Negotiating."

Jim felt the onset of a migraine. "Bones, if you want me to stay relaxed than stop playing fucking word games with me!"

Bones sobered. "Okay, Jim, it goes like this. After we came out of warp, Pav hacked into the Vulcan council's mainframe again and you can imagine our surprise when we learned that we were only wanted to stand trial for Spock's jail break. They didn't even want Nyota so she volunteered to go down to New Vulcan and negotiate terms of surrender. She argued that under Vulcan law, the punishment for Spock's public outing of _pon farr_ would be banishment and that our actions in breaking him out were intended to preserve life, which, as you know, Vulcans hold up as a cultural mandate. You should have heard her, using their own logic against them while maintaining respect. I'd have probably told them to drop dead." Jim quirked his brow. Bones smiled and ignored him. "So anyway, Nyota worked out a deal. If we promise to place ourselves under the terms of Spock's banishment and never set foot on New Vulcan again, then we are all free to go. So we agreed and then Nyota asked that you and Spock be returned so we could be on our way. And that's when we all finally realized what had happened."

"Which was what, exactly?"

"Well, you know Spock evacuated the Vulcan elders from the planet but that is only a small portion of the council. Many of the members died and with the population cut so drastically, they've had to accept many Vulcans on who would never have made it past the screening process normally. Our friend Serdah is one of them. He was completely compromised and obsessed with vengeance but did an excellent job of hiding that from the council when they charged him with bringing us in. His plan was to kill us all but he wanted to destroy Spock first and was going to use you to do it."

"Yeah, I picked up on that. But how did you manage to find us?"

"Serdah brought you all to the new meditation temple in the middle of the city. It's set to open in three days. It looks like he planned to leave you there for the public to find, thinking that everyone felt as he did and would be thrilled by your death. Lucky for you, another one of the council members was bonded to Sivel, Serdah's buddy. She located him through the bond and led us right to you. Not a moment too soon, I might add, although it did look like you were getting the upper hand."

"She actually betrayed her bondmate?"

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure Spock would say that the cause was sufficient."

"And Serdah?"

Bones paused. "He'd dead, Jim. He killed himself rather than face the disgrace."

Jim lay back against the pillows, pondering everything he'd just heard. They were free to go, provided they never came back. They could go away, build some kind of life, stop worrying about who might be on their tale. It seemed almost too good to be true.

"So what's the plan, Bones?"

"We leave. We get as far away from Federation Space as possible because we are technically still wanted by Starfleet. It's out of sight, out of mind, Jim. As long as we agree to disappear, they will leave us alone. So right now the plan is to pack up and go away and start over somewhere new. Spock thought it sounded pretty good, right before I knocked him out."

"What about our families, Bones? I don't get on to well with my mom and brother but I can't just disappear on them. What about Sarek? What about Joanna?"

"Jim, I don't have all those answers but we'll figure them out. We can sneak back one or two at a time and visit Earth. The only place we're forbidden to go ever is here, but something tells me Sock and Sarek will find a way to make it work. Don't worry."

"Money?"

"Pavel did some crazy computer stuff and managed to combine all our assets from Earth and transfer them into an off-world account. Also, when a Vulcan is banished, his family gives him a gift. It's some long word I can't understand but ultimately they give you however much they consider your life to be worth. And apparently Sarek and T'Pau consider Spock to be worth a lot. So, we don't really need to worry about money."

"Are we all going?"

"S'the plan so far."

"Even Uhura?"

"That gonna be a problem?"

"Gonna be a problem for you if she doesn't come?"

Bones smirked. "What are you getting at, kid?"

"Nothing. But I have eyes and ears and I was in lockup with you two for two days. What didn't you tell me, Bones?"

Bones smiled. "Nothing you need to worry about now. Look, I know how fast your mind works and I can see you picking apart the plan and strategizing. But your body and brain took a major beating and you need to rest. We need to clear New Vulcan airspace in six hours so…"

"Can you beam me up to the ship?"

Bones blinked at him. "Yeah, kid, I guess I can do that. But you have to promise me you'll sleep."

"You have my word."

* * *

He materialized unsteadily on the transporter platform to the sight of a girl he didn't know and one Nyota Uhura. Ny stepped forward tentatively, offering her arm for support. They stared at each for a moment, expressions wary. It was Nyota who spoke first, a fearful hope in her eyes. "Look, we're supposed to be leaving in a matter of hours. You and I don't have time to make things right now but Leo and Spock want me to come. I….I want to come too but I won't if it'll be too much for you. And everyone would understand if you said no. So please just tell me now. Are we going to be able make this work, Jim?"

He looked at her carefully before asking lightly, "What did you do to my doctor, Uhura?"

She gave him a cryptic half-smile. "Misery loves company, sir. And apparently guilt does, too. We needed each other, we helped each other. And if it's okay with you, I'd like that to continue."

He nodded. "Look, I'm not over it with you, not even close. But I fixed it with the others. And I guess we need you back too if we're ever gonna really forget this. We'll figure it out."

The relief on her face was beautiful. "Thank you." Taking his arm, she helped him down the hall.

Palming his cabin door shut, he leaned against it and perused the view. He'd never thought to see this again, his cabin, the incontrovertible marks of their life together. And his mate, sprawled across their bed. Limping forward, Jim threw himself down on the mattress and burrowed into Spock's chest. Rising to the edge of consciousness, the Vulcan flung an arm across Jim's waist and held him close. He smiled, warm, secure, and right where he belonged.

* * *

**A/N: The last full chapter is up!!!! Epilogue to follow shortly!**


	17. Chapter 16

**Paramount owns Star Trek.**

* * *

Epilogue:

Several light-years beyond the Alpha Quadrant, in a place no man has gone before, there lies a planet of infinite juxtaposition; hot sun and cool breezes, hard work and hard play, burning passions and deep-rooted affections. It is a beautiful, simple place, convivial, accepting, willing to welcome without judgment or suspicion. The people called it Nav. A Scotsman would call it heaven.

Imagine for a moment that you have sunk down through the atmosphere and have skimmed across the crystal surface of an azure sea to stand in the gentle crashing surf of a long, white beach. The breeze is gentle but does little to dispel the heady heat of a sun at midday. If you turn to the right, the beach is deserted; to the left the white sand is bare, too. The air itself carries a somnolent quality. The Navains call it _langui_: the lazy hours.

It would be warm but pleasant to stand in the surf and wile away the day but there is much to be seen and understood. Perhaps your eyes would scan the lush foliage of the tree line, happening upon three weathered, slat wood buildings that nestle at its rim. Curiosity would win out over warm water and you would traverse the sandy expanse in search of answers.

Upon closer inspection, the three buildings would begin to reveal their secrets. Not houses, exactly, as originally suspected. With its large cargo bay doors and breachable construction, the first most strongly resembles a terran garage! This discovery might peak interest, causing you to step inside and scan the dim interior, your eyes alighting on several large pieces of machinery in various stages of construction and repair.

As your eyes adjust, maybe you would notice a man reclining recklessly back on two chair legs, his head hanging over the back, a low, even snore emanating from his throat. Perhaps on any other day you might find him with a member of the Navain's fairer sex, who they say, have a healthy appetite for men who know how to work and play. But today it is just this man, alone among his engines and the look on his face is one of satisfaction.

Retreat would be prudent, as any nap partaken in a chair tipped so precariously had better be lightly taken indeed and it wouldn't do to be caught staring. In your haste, you might tip toe up the rickety staircase that skirts the outside of the building and stumble into the small abode that graces the second floor. It has a look of occupation but appears empty at the moment and your eyes dance around the interior; comfortable, homey, safe. A melodious echo of laughter pricks your ears and you might follow the notes like breadcrumbs to a small veranda overlooking the wild jungles beyond. A step, two more, and you would peak carefully around a door jamb to observe the exchange of affection between two young lovers in a foreign tongue. You would not linger long, for these kisses and words are not meant for any but the two who share them, but a gentle, endearing моя любовь*would echo in the wake of your retreat.

The insistent swelter of high noon would swath you as you exited the protective shelter of the home but continued curiosity would conquer the heat and you would step lightly back onto the sand. Your feet would carry you towards the second building in the mysterious row, its clapboard lines oddly authoritative. A graceless squeak would capture your attention and your eyes would settle upon a small wooden sign bearing a red cross; universally recognized, the shingle of a healer.

It is possible that your first instinct would be to sweep up the wide stones of the walkway, to gain insight through entrance but the tableau unfolding on the sagging front porch would serve to give you pause. Your stride would moderate, take on an artificial calm as you ambled past the building in pseudo-repose. Your eyes would glance inconspicuously upon the somewhat querulous visage of the chestnut haired man who reclines on a porch swing reminiscent of the old, Deep South. Perhaps you would quell suspicion with an innocuous wave but you would quickly realize the innecessity of such concerns, as the man's attention is absorbed with the PADD in his hand and the woman sleeping in a languid sprawl beside him, cheek pillowed on his thigh amidst her long, black hair. His eyes are distracted but one hand rubs a light circle over her gently rounded belly.

Your casual stroll would quickly carry you to the third building and its obvious purpose would make a smile quirk across your lips. To situate a pub directly next to a doctor's office would convey a certain ironic honesty. It would, in fact, be quite logical.

You would feel no trepidation as you wander up the walk to the dilapidated front steps because this is, after all, a public establishment and you may enter freely. The inside is bright, numerous open windows allowing light and gentle breezes to waft freely through the room. The ambiance is rugged and rough-hewn but the atmosphere carries the subtle residuals of love, friendship, and good cheer.

Turning down a back corridor, your eyes might chance upon a staircase leading to a door in the establishment's second floor. But your instincts are strong and they lead you down the hallway, past kitchens and storage closets to a rear door that expels you onto a wide stone veranda. Lush greenery cocoons the patio from outside eyes and you feel a sudden sense of invasive reticence, for this place is a haven, special, and not for you.

You turn to go in respect to the privacy of unknown persons, but are stopped by the sight of a large raised pallet covered by thick blue cushioning. Your honorable intentions battle and lose to an irrepressible need to know and you step quietly over to the platform's edge to peruse the two figures lying intertwined in unconscious repose.

One is golden, in hair, in skin. He lies in a loose-limbed sprawl on his stomach. His face is relaxed and innocent in sleep and his cheek nestles into the neck of the man beside him, as his arm rests easily over his partner's waist.

The other is dark, his arms, face, and bare torso burnished with a coppery hue. His ebony hair is mussed haphazardly and you visualize the damage to careful coiffure accomplished by the carding of golden hands through long, black locks. The man's olive fingers are linked intimately with those of his sleeping bedmate and his chin rests gently in the golden hair.

It would be so easy to stay there, to stare forever, to drink in the intimacy of this stolen moment. But we are encroaching here, in these hard won instants of victorious amour and we will not intrude any further. We will retreat, back through the door, across the white sand, over the azure water and back to our own pursuits of love.

*my love

* * *

**A/N: Phew!!!! Well, thats it folks. This was my first fanfiction and I just want to say thank you so much for all the responses and feedback I received. It was very helpful and inspiring. **


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